Once More, With Feeling
by m r s . w r i t i n g
Summary: [HIATUS OVER] It was like the warmth of Murphy's chest against my back, or Connor's breath on my neck. The memory of those two things only reminded me how incredibly and unfathomably selfish I was. I've never wanted something so much in my life. But they're brothers. I should stop this, move on before someone gets hurt. But I'm not entirely sure that I can. [Murph/OC/Con]
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A coworker was supposed to meet me at McGinty's for drinks, but he had yet to make his appearance. We were going to talk about the possibility of expanding my advice column at work, and as excited as I was to discuss that, I didn't think he was going to show. It was okay because gazing about the bar, I noticed a very familiar, raven-haired beauty tucked away in a booth, with a textbook and a half a beer. Lauren was the only medical student I'd ever met who studied in a bar.

A smile splayed on my lips, I turned around, brushing shoulders with one of the handsome Irishmen who always seemed to be at McGinty's, lost in a fit of banter and drunken comradery. I held out my credit card to Doc. "You see that pretty girl over there?" I pointed at Lauren's booth, causing a few of the men who overheard my comment, including the two Irishmen, to glance over their shoulders at Lauren. "Will you send her a new beer? And charge whatever she drinks for the rest of the night to my card, please?"

I heard a few chuckles, of course, directed at me. The idea of two women being together was so perverted and sexualized by straight men, but I'd gotten so used to it by now.

"Sure Avery," sputtered Doc. "Not a-a-a-a problem." It was followed by one of his usual, beautiful indiscretions. "_Fuck. Ass!" _

"And a jack and coke for me, please?" I added with an appreciative smile. I turned away from the bar and made my way over to Lauren.

Typically, I don't return to one night stands, but there was a type of innocence about Lauren and her newly discovered attraction to women that just made her desirable. I loved the idea of being one of her first sexual encounters with another woman because I knew from personal experience how important mine had been to me.

Sexuality is a fragile, decadent thing. Your first experiences carry with you into the rest of your life, and it changes you. I myself had a very particular sexual identification. I went with what I felt, as long as all parties were consenting, and normally, I don't limit myself to one sexual partner. Very few times in my life have I only had one significant other or partner.

I slid into the bench across from her, forcing her to pull her attention away from her textbook in surprise. Excitement lingering in her tone, "Avery, what are you doing here?"

The waitress arrived with our drinks, placing Lauren's unexpected beer in front of her, and my Jack and coke in front of me.

"I was supposed to meet a coworker," I shrugged. "He didn't show, but I saw that you were here and decided I'd join you." I wore my most charming smile. "That is if you're not busy."

"Oh, no!" Her textbook was slammed closed and pushed aside, nestling the beer I'd ordered in between her feminine, manicured fingers.

The waitress, who'd yet to depart, bent down to an eye level with me. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Avery, but I'm supposed to let you know that the gentlemen over by the bar," – she pointed to the two handsome Irishmen I'd bumped shoulders with earlier – "they insisted on paying for your drinks."

My eyes fell on the two. They were involved in a loud conversation with their surrounding friends, their roaring laughter shaking the air, unaware of my observation. I forced a polite smile for the girl's sake. "Thank you, Abbey."

As soon as Abbey was out of earshot, Lauren glanced over her shoulder to catch a look at the boys. "They're cute, aren't they?" she said mischievously.

I twirled my small, red straw around the ice of my drink. "Oh, you're just trying to make me jealous," I teased.

A shade of red rose to her cheeks.

She was right, though. They were quite handsome, both of exceptional build, identical heights, slightly different aesthetic features, and there was a similarity about them that couldn't quite be placed. And apparently, they felt compelled to pay for our drinks.

As I sat back in the booth, watching them from across the bar, it was almost as if one felt my eyes on the back of his head. Pausing in his conversation, the less rowdy of the two looked at me. As our eyes met, the corner of his mouth lifted, and he lifted up his drink to me. Politely smiling back, I lifted mine.

There weren't that many people at McGinty's. There were four men at the bar, myself and Lauren, the bartender and the waitress, of course, and a couple of old men tucked away in the far corner. The gentleman stationed at the bar were producing most of the noise, but even as their happy sounds filled the air, the mood still changed as soon as two more men entered the bar.

At first, it was Lauren's eyes growing wide at the sight of something behind me that caught my attention. I glanced over my shoulder to see two large, menacing looking individuals. They looked like they woke up every morning with the intentions of causing trouble. It was the way they sauntered in, both of them adorning three piece suits and the looks in their eyes. One even sported a pair of sleek, black leather gloves, which was ominous all on its own. You wear gloves to hide fingerprints – creepy. Their entry even warranted the cease in the conversation of the table in the far corner, the old people watching warily as the two thuggish looking men approached the bar.

I'd come to accept that every great city had a mob problem. Boston was no exception. Recently, the crime rates had doubled; leaving the police forced over worked and under budgeted. This only made it easier for criminals to commit and get away with their crimes. Over the past few weeks, Doc had been harassed by members of the Russian mob. Rumor had it, if my journalist friends heard right, was that they'd be buying up properties in this area soon. By the looks of those two big shots by the bar, I assume Doc didn't have long.

One of the Irishmen tapped the other on the shoulder, drawing his attention to the two thugs, soon after their friends catching on as well, their banter dying. Our four men at the bar quieted, all was still.

I've seen my fair share of bar fights. Sometimes they're nasty, and sometimes, they're just stupid. This one started off as stupid and turned nasty really quick. At first, I'd ignored the men entirely, turning around to my drink, minding my own business, and attempted to start an idle chat with Lauren. Before long, I'd had the situation tuned out until the thugs were shouting and throwing around threats.

And, I realize that there were four men at the bar and only two thugs. Truthfully, they were outnumbered. However, the thugs' size compensated for their lack of quantity. One was just under six feet tall, average height, but he was a chunky fellow. Chunky is a polite way of saying _fucking fat._ Unlike the first one, Fatty Mc Fat-Fat, the second thug reached nearly seven feet and was rather muscular and bulky.

I almost thought that those two Irishmen deserved getting the shit beat out of them when they interrupted the thugs' speech with a quick chug of their beers and started throwing punches. They'd been asking for trouble. I'm quite keen on keeping out of dangerous situations, myself, that and things pertaining to none of my business, but I just can't watch two giants pummel four average sized men, ranging from tipsy to belligerent.

The few elderly gentleman in the corner got up from their table as soon as the rumble broke out, all waddling hastily for the door. There were sounds of battle cries from drunken men, and a few death threats floating about the air through the cacophony of punches and breaking furniture.

Lauren tensed completely, pinning her back against the wall inside the booth. Barely breathing, appearing similarly to a deer in the headlights. "Oh my God, should we call the police?"

So I can get murdered for being a rat? I don't think so.

I was probably as terrified as Lauren was, but Lauren and I had about a six year age difference. I was positive I'd seen more violence than her and our ideas of handling this situation were on different scales.

At the shatter of glass, one of the Irishmen was down for the count, completely unconscious. The fat man, having broken a glass beer bottle over the Irishman's head, then turned his attention to a long-haired, bearded fellow. The tall thug had both the second Irishman and the fourth bar customer pinned up against the wall by the throats. It looked as though our boys had bitten off more than they could chew.

I couldn't just sit by and watch these guys get the total shit beat out of them and – by the looks of the knocked out Irishman – possibly killed. So, as scared shitless I was to call the police, I figured, as a medium sized woman in heels (hadn't even gotten time to change after work before opening a can of whoop-ass) I surveyed my options around the bar and went for the best bet.

The polished wooden bar stool felt smooth underneath my fingers as I ignored Lauren's pleas to stay out of this, lifted the stool over my head, and with all of the strength, I could muster, smashed it over the back of the taller man's head. I was surprised at just how quickly he went tumbling down, taking his victims with him.

I didn't want to give any time for the other thug to react, so as soon as I registered that the first was down, I turned around, grabbed the second stool, and broke it over the other's back. He went down with a little bit more struggle, only taking a few more seconds to black out than his friend over there.

My heart was racing as both men were on the ground, face down, and blacked out. I asked myself what in the actual fuck was wrong with me. I had just knocked out two members of a mob, people who don't think twice about murdering a cow for not being a chicken, after interrupting a damn bar fight? I should have just let those two Irishmen get the shit beat out of them, but I supposed they were cute, and I'd cut them a break today.

"Holy fuck!" exclaimed the long-haired, bearded man, now collapsed onto the ground, whose ass I'd just saved.

I ignored him, turning my attention to the remaining, conscious Irishman. "What the fuck was that?"

"Aye," he beamed from ear to ear, "'at was pretty good." He peered down at the giant at his feet, giving him a nudge with his boot. "Ye knocked 'em out cold. These fuckers won't be causin' anyone any trouble anytime soon."

"Avery!" Turning around, I saw Lauren kneeling over the knocked out Irishmen. I, and his friend, both came to his side.

"Fuck, Con…" hissed the first man.

"What's his name?" asked Lauren, inspecting his forehead.

"Connor."

"Connor?" she called his name, trying to rouse him. "Can you hear me?" Checking his pulse, she looked up and said, "He's gonna be okay. I think he's just knocked out. There's a piece of glass stuck in the skin, but that should be no problem to get out." Her eyes fell on me. "Should we take him to a doctor?"

"I don't know. You're the med student."

In her eyes, I could see her mentally flip through all of her options. Finally, she looked up at the second Irishman. "Who are you? Friend, lover, brother?"

"Brudder," he replied. "If it's just a piece of glass, then we ain't gonna worry about a doctor."

Lauren cocked a brow, obviously disagreeing with him. She, of course, was going to insist on medical treatment, but we probably couldn't do that for the same reason I didn't call the police.

"What's your name?" I asked him, attempting to mediate as Lauren tended to Connor.

"Murphy."

I was captain of the debate team growing up, and in college, I'd started a nonprofit charity. I'd been told that I was a control freak, but I'd like to consider myself a leader. Also, I have a natural talent of barking off orders and people just tend to listen. "Nice to meet you, Murphy," I began cordially. "This is Lauren, here, who's tending to your brother. She's a med student. She's pretty good with blood and such. My name is Avery." I held out a quick hand for him to take, but had already turned my attention to Doc. "Doc," I called over Murphy's shoulder, "put the two stools on my credit card, please." And finally, I looked to the potty-mouthed hippie. "Your name?"

"Rocco?" he answered in a question as if he wasn't sure.

"Alright, we need to get him some place where he can rest until he wakes up. Doc, is there a couch or something in the back?"

We were led into a back room, where Rocco and Murphy placed Connor onto a pool table. It wasn't a couch or a bed, but it would do.

"Murphy, are you _sure_ you don't want to take him to a doctor?" I asked for a final time, pulling off my blazer to bundle up underneath Connor's head.

He shot me a crooked smile. I melted a little. (Only a little.) "It would take me brother jumpin' off a buildin' to get away with takin' him to a hospital."

Abbey brought in two mugs of coffee, handing one to each of us. "Older, younger?"

His smile broadened. "Twins."

So that was the similarity I couldn't quite place. "Apparently not identical, but still very cool."

Lauren stood from beside Connor, where she'd been attempting to remove the small shard of glass in his forehead. "It shouldn't need stitches," she said, looking at me, not Murphy. "They just need to keep it clean and bandaged, and it should be good." She gave me an apologetic expression. "I do have exams this week, so I really need to get home and study."

I smiled. "That's fine. You were a big help here."

She shrugged. "What's the degree worth if I don't use it, right?" I walked Lauren to the door of the back room and placed a kiss on her cheek. "Will you call me?"

I hated that line, but she'd been a good sports tonight. I muffled the rising groan. "Of course."

"Okay. I'll see you later." And after a chaste kiss on the lips, she left.

Standing beside a still unconscious Connor, Murphy shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning against the table. "Girlfriend?"

"I don't do girlfriends," I said wryly, making my way over to the table with the first-aid kit Doc had provided us.

"So ye'r not into girls, then?"

Opening up the kit, I pulled out a piece of gauze and medical tape. "I am into girls, but I don't see how that's any of your business." Men sexualizing my sexuality wasn't really on my to-do list for today.

He held up his hands in defense. "Just tryin' to make conversation."

"With overly personal questions." I began to bandage Connor's cut.

After Connor's bandage was finished, I began to pack up the kit when Rocco tucked his head in the room. "Murph?"

"Yeah?"

"Mike and I are gonna go take care of those assholes. Doc don't want people lookin' in the window freakin' out or nothin'."

My mind immediately derailed at the sound of Rocco's words. There were mobsters, thugs, passed out on the floor of McGinty's and _I _was the one who put them there. These were men paid to kill, who worked for guys that were _so_ completely out of my league it was ridiculous. My father, chief of police back home, always warned me about gangs and organized crime, how to stay away from anyone who had anything to do with it. And how those situations just snuck up on you. Daddy was right because tonight completely snuck up on me.

My rising levels of anxiety drowning out Murphy and Rocco's words, there was an aching pain in the background. After taking a minute of coming back to reality, landing my far off wandering brain ship back to Earth, I realized the pain was pulsating from my feet in these fucking shoes. I had no mental energy for this shit, so I peeled them off, and threw them to the ground with a loud _clack!_

I fell into the nearest chair by one of the spray-painted windows, hissing to myself, "_Fuck._" The anxiety must have been noticeable because it pulled Rocco and Murphy out of their conversation.

"Everythin' all right over there?" called Murphy.

With an exasperated sigh, my eyes closed, and my head fell back. "I can't believe I just fucking did that," I said, only slightly louder than a whisper, more to myself than to the boys.

"It'll be okay." Rocco took a few steps toward me. "I work around these douchebags all the time. They just got hot tempers is all." He waved it off with a hand gesture.

"Plus, they didn't even see yer face." Murphy attempted a comforting smile, but it came out as a smirk. It was kind of cute and added a distraction. "You just came up behind 'em, and _wham._ Which was very impressive by the way." He gave a courteous nod.

"Don't worry about it." Rocco left the room, calling over his shoulder, "I'mma go handle these fuck faces."

Rocco pulled the door closed behind him, and Murphy leaned himself against the pool table, next to his brother.

"Lauren said he should wake up soon," I said, trying to distract myself from my innermost negative thoughts.

"Aye, he'll be fine. He's gotten worse than a tiny little bottle to his head." There was a moment of silence between us, mostly because I was drowning in worry, but eventually his easy going tone dropped, and he sounded very solemn. "Thanks, by the way."

I was a thousand miles away, now that my feet weren't aching to anchor me home. I caught the last words, my selective hearing betraying me yet again. "What?"

"I said thanks, for yer help back there."

Glancing at my watch, I noticed how late it was. My coworker never did show, but that might have been a good thing for him. I wasn't worried about expanding my advice column anymore, now that I'd convinced myself that I was wanted by the mob (which was _such_ an exaggeration of the realistic situation). "Damn, I need to get home." I stood from the chair and gathered my shoes that had been laying at Murphy's feet.

I straightened up, shoes in hand, and motioned for Murphy to stop as he went to retrieve my blazer jacket from underneath Connor's head. "Don't worry about it. I've got a thousand others just like it."

Murphy towered over me, a good five or six inches (I'm a midget compared to average sized men). By the seriousness in his eyes and his calm exterior, I believed that he really was thankful. Growing up an only child, I never got to experience the bond of sisterhood or having a brother, but I still respected the concept. They were brothers, _twins_ no less. One of them could have been seriously hurt today, more so than a stupid broken beer bottle to the head. I could never relate to what that's like, to spend your entire life with somebody like that, and have that type of bond, and be put in a situation where you might lose them.

Even though I was probably going to be murdered in my sleep by a vengeful Russian mob member (still exaggerating), I was glad I'd stepped in. I'm glad I helped. I would have hated myself had anything happened to anybody tonight.

We were only inches away from one another, and I probably looked like a crazy person just staring up at him, speechless to really say anything productive. My mind was distracted by intrigue and wonderment, intrigued by twins, wondering what it is Murphy must be going through. He seemed easy going enough.

I placed a hand on his shoulder and lifted myself up to place a kiss on his cheek. "I hope your brother feels better." I forced a smile and made way for the door. "Catch you later."

(xxx)

I wanted to tell Ben, the asshole who stood me up for drinks last night, how lucky he was for not showing up, but I work for a Woman's magazine, and you just don't tell things to people in my office that should be kept secret. I'd hate for him to mention it to a journalist or something and then advertise to every thug on the street how a tiny little woman's relationship advice columnist like me took down two big, bad wolves. We will be handing out little red hoods over _there. _And after, will be hearing an instructional by the Huntsman on how to cut yourself out of a wolf's belly.

Since I couldn't bitch at Ben about it, and Daddy, my very serious Police Chief of a father, only scolded me for intervening in the first place (Funny coming from a hero, right?), that left Lauren. She was more than willing to "console" me, _console_ being her word. At the time, I think I realized that she was getting clingy (only girlfriend-clingy, not stalker-clingy, but it still sucked because we weren't girlfriends), but I didn't want to vent to her and then tell her to buzz off. That would have been rude. I probably shouldn't have slept with her, either. That tends to send mixed signals.

I decided I needed to sit her down and explain to her where I was, and how my dating life works. She was getting dressed, about to head home to get ready for a class, and right as I was about to open the portal to this _fun_ conversation, there was a knock at the door.

"Are you expecting anyone?" she asked, buttoning her shirt.

Clad in pajamas and completely unashamed, I answered the door, mentally taking note to have a peephole installed. To my surprise, Murphy stood outside my door, with my blazer jacket in hand, accompanied by a very conscious and grinning Connor. I didn't do a very good job hiding how unexpected this was on my face.

"Aye!" exclaimed Connor with a smile. "You must be Avery!" Lauren watching from within the apartment, Connor took a step forward without invitation and brought me into an embrace. Even though he was a total stranger, I couldn't help but enjoy his scent of cigarettes and black coffee, so I let the random hug thing go. "You saved our ass, lass!"

The benefit of the doubt only went so far, and I was going to narrow my eyes and lecture him on how I hated being referred to as a _girl. A_utomatically _lass_ registered as just that, but he caught sight of Lauren behind me and granted himself entry into my apartment to harass her with hugs, too.

"Oh, how unexpected." Lauren gave Connor a reluctant pat on the back.

I cocked a brow at Murphy, waiting for an explanation. He gave me a goofy grin and granted himself access to my home, as well. "Thought we'd come and return yer coat to ye." He lifted up the black blazer to me and then threw it over the back of one of the stools at the kitchen bar.

Closing the door behind me, I stepped out of the entry way, where Lauren tiptoed behind me. "How do you know where I live?" I folded my arms defensively.

Connor stuck a hand in his back pocket and handed me a tiny blue piece of plastic. "You forgot your credit card over at McGinty's."

I rolled my eyes, not necessarily at the boys or that I forgot the card, but that it took me this long to even notice it was missing. "Of course, I did," I muttered, throwing it onto the bar, next to my coat, dismissively. "But it's not like you can look on the back of it for an address."

Murphy then turned away from me, his eyes falling on Connor suggestively. Connor shrugged. "Well, we had to get yer card back to ye, lass." My teeth clenched. "And we had to give ye our thanks, too. So, I had no choice but to look at yer contact information over at the bar, so we could return yer items to ye, and thank ye properly."

I had planned on discussing the ethics of going through confidential files, how inappropriate it was to just go through someone's papers and show up at a woman's house uninvited, especially considering the events having gone down. Something else came out, instead. "Avery."

His brow furrowed. He already knew my name. "What?"

"Please," I said, with a long, controlled exhale. "Call me Avery. Not _girl, _not _lass, woman, _or anything of the like."

Connor and Murphy gave each other an amused look, and Lauren could see that they were taken a bit off guard by my request and jumped in to prevent any awkwardness. "Well, I need to go get ready for class!" she beamed, grabbing her coat from off the back of the couch. "I'll call you later, okay?"

Inwardly I groaned. I was really looking forward to talking about the whole "girlfriend thing," but with two handsome, unexpected Irishmen standing in my living room, I decided it could wait a bit. I saw her out, trying my best not to seem too into the intimate arm touches or lingering kisses. _This is going to suck, later._

The door closing behind her, I furrowed my brows at an unexpected parcel sitting on my bar, next to the coat and credit card. "What's that?" I asked.

With a wide smile, Connor heaved it up into his arms and brought it to me, tipping it over slightly so that I could see its contents. It was a case of beer. "A token of our appreciation."

I couldn't suppress the chuckle that came rising out of my chest. Shaking my head with a smile, I made way around the bar and into the kitchen, grabbing two frosted mugs from the freezer I keep for guests. "I'm not that much of a beer drinker," I said, handing each of them a mug. What was I supposed to do, kick them out? "I, myself," I reached into the liquor cabinet of my kitchen, "am a vodka kind of girl."

"Good God." Connor held the mug up and eyed it like it was a rare diamond. "Who keeps mugs in the freezer at all times just to pull 'em out whenever a couple of Irishmen show up at the door unexpected?"

Murphy held up a bottle of beer at me from across the bar and began pouring. "A bloody saint, that's who."

"Amen to that."

(xxx)

I realize that I'd only met these men a day ago, and I practically knew nothing about them. However, when I'd poured vodka into my lemon-lime soda, I might have overestimated my ballpark measurement. Around drink two, my judgment started to slip, which is how drink three happened. So, an hour and a half later, the boys were sitting in my living room, beer bottles littering the coffee table, and I was making my way from the kitchen with shot glasses in my hand. Lost inside of a drunken haze, our laughter filled the apartment.

"So, you have no idea who was born first?" I sputtered, the shot glasses clinking onto the glass coffee table. I nestled myself onto the ivory, shag carpet, crossing my legs, and began to distribute shots.

"Our Mother's never told us," Connor whined.

"Nobody else would know? A grandma or an aunt or something?"

They shook their heads in unison. "No one's ever had the decency to tell us."

"Avery, who do you think is the oldest?" Murphy inquired before knocking back his shot.

I emitted a very drunk giggle. "How the fuck am I supposed to know?"

Connor had an amused smile. "I dunno, who seems more…" he searched for the words, struggling in his stupor, "_mature?"_

My eyes shot back and forth between the two, and they waited with grins for me to give my answer. I erupted into giggles again. "You both seem pretty immature to me, to be completely honest."

Murphy didn't seem affected by the comment, but Connor's jaw dropped and his brows furrowed. "We happen to be quite gathered individuals." I couldn't tell if he was actually angry or just feigning. "….When the time calls for it."

"Oh, like chugging beers and starting bar fights?" I said with a cocked brow.

"Aye!" defended Murphy. "Those cock suckers deserved it!"

"Hey!" I pointed an accusatory finger, attempting to be serious, but the giggles just took over. "That's an insult to cocksuckers!"

Interrupting our fit of rabid laughter, the phone rang. I managed to (drunkenly) ninja my way across the couch, grabbing the phone off the end table, and lazily shushed the boys.

"Hello?" I hadn't even bothered looking at caller ID.

"Avery! It's Jeremy!"

The boys were quiet, surprisingly, watching me from the other couch on the other side of the coffee table.

"Hey, Jeremy," I said, taking a sip from my fourth drink. "How're you doing?" I managed to stifle the booze from talking. I was trying to sound as cordial as possible, also attempting to hide my annoyance at the random phone call, considering it was eight o'clock at night and I had guests over.

"I was wondering if you wanted to try that new Mongolian place. It's Vegan-friendly." Jeremy was a gentleman I'd been seeing, who had an interest in independent films and saw organization as a lifestyle necessity. We'd only gone on two dates. I thought he was okay, and as far as I could see, he and I would only remain casual. As much as I enjoyed our first two dates, because he was an enjoyable person to be around, right now, sitting across from two exceedingly hot men with accents, it didn't sound too appealing.

But I knew that was mostly the alcohol talking, as far as not finding Jeremy superbly interesting. And I was flattered to know that he remembered my dietary preferences. "Sure," I said, almost in a sigh, my head falling back onto the couch. I knew that the boys could probably read my body language, but I wasn't paying attention. Thanks, Vodka.

"How does Tuesday sound?"

"I think I might have a meeting that day, let me check." I didn't get up. I remained seated, staring up at the ceiling, the phone plastered to my ear, and gave a pause. "Hold on, opening up the planner." I could hear Murphy's muffled chuckles. "Oh, look, I actually don't have an appointment that day. What time?"

"My lunch starts at eleven. How about yours?"

"I can do noon?"

"So, can I. I'll e-mail you the address."

"Awesome, I'm writing the time down now." Liar.

"I'll see you Tuesday."

"See you, then." Setting the phone onto the glass end table and lifting my head up, I saw two very amused smiles on the boys' faces. The table was completely littered in alcohol paraphernalia, and it dawned on me that drunken me wouldn't remember that time, place, or even with who. "I should probably actually write that last part down, shouldn't I?" I padded my way over to the kitchen, rummaging through drawers for a notepad.

"What was that?" inquired Murphy, pouring himself another shot (fifth, sixth?)

A smile of embarrassment grew on my lips. "Jeremy is kind of a neat freak. He insists I write _everything_ down. He's under the impression I have a planner." I finally found a notepad and pen, and set the tip to paper to write, but as soon as I needed information to flow out, nothing came. _Fuck. I already forgot._ "What was that time?"

"One o'clock," called Connor from the living room.

At the bar, Murphy shot Connor a disapproving stare, shaking his head. "Noon."

"Thank you," I nodded at Murphy, and said to Connor, "You're gonna be a shitty friend, Connor if you just leave friends out to dry." I wrote down my reminder, and Murphy accompanied me back into the living area, this time sitting onto the couch next to me. I let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm not ready to go on date three with Jeremy. _Fuck." _

"Moving too fast for ye?" Connor spoke into his drink.

"No, I just haven't had the talk yet."

"Talk?" Murphy cocked a brow.

Oh, this conversation was always fun. "Look, guys, we're all obviously full of alcohol. I wouldn't call us drunk," – I motioned toward the coffee table – "but I would definitely refer to us as judgmentally impaired, so I'm going to just throw it out there."

"Well, we do know that yer not a lesbian now. Otherwise, ye wouldn't be schedulin' dates with lads named Jeremy."

"_Unless_," interjected Connor, "yer datin' very manly women named Jeremy."

"No, no," I giggled. "Not a lesbian. I just like to…" I searched for the proper words, "go with the flow, you know?"

"Hm, '_go with the flow'_. Never heard it quite like 'at before, huh, Murph?"

Murphy shook his head in agreement. "So whatever jus' happens, happens then?"

I shrugged. "Kind of… I do have moral boundaries, but my biggest thing is that I don't believe in a monogamous lifestyle."

With a goofy grin, Connor stood from the couch, and leaned over the table, giving my forehead a gentle rub. "Where's yer horn, there, girl? Are you sure yer not a unicorn?"

Not catching the _girl_ due to my alcohol levels, I was slightly flattered at the comment, and dramatically batted my eyelashes. "No, but I'm close. Seriously, I just don't believe in limiting love. You should like…expand on it, you know what I mean?"

Murphy applauded gently as Connor raised his drink. "Very well said."

"Well, you guys received that well enough," I scoffed. "People _freak out_ when I tell them that I'm not willing to date only one person. It's almost audacious, you know?"

"You always been that way? Open or whatever they call it?"

"Some say open," I informed. "Some say polyamorous. It depends on your situation and preference. But I've never identified as monogamous."

"So you've always had more than one boyfriend?"

"Or girlfriend, but they _always _know. I never lie. I've always been honest. The trouble lies with when they find out, and how they take it. I try to tell people before we have sex for the first time, or before I notice any emotional attachment on either party."

"So Jeremy doesn't know yet?" asked Connor.

"Nope. Neither does Lauren. I was actually going to talk to her today, but you guys showed up."

"Sorry," said Murph meekly, opening a new beer.

"Oh, it's not a problem. I'll just tell her the next time I see her. She's starting to get really attached."

Since Murphy was next to me, Connor stretched himself across the couch. "You don't like her?"

"I like her." It almost sounded like a complaint. "I just think she likes me more than I like her."

"You ever been in love, then?" Murphy asked casually. "Somebody never got you to settle down?"

My eyes widened, bouncing back and forth between the two of them. "Wow, that's a question that I did not expect to be asked, by either one of you, tonight, while almost drunk."

Connor shrugged. "Just a question."

I took a large sip of my drink. "Me, in love?" What a story. With a nostalgic smile, I thought back to that complicated chapter of my life. "I _thought_ was in love," I said carefully.

The corners of Connor's lips tweaked, speaking into his drink again. "Boy? …Girl?"

"I called her my Amazonian Queen."

"Oh, ye hear tha' Murph?" Excited for details, Connor shot up from his horizontal position. "An _Amazonian Queen."_

"She was my first serious relationship and my first serious relationship with a female. But," – my drink made a harsh _clink_ as I set it down onto the table – "she fucking broke my heart."

"She polyamorous, too?" said Murph, skeptically.

"She and I were both open, but that wasn't what killed it."

"What did?"

Fucking Natalia. She was older than me, more experienced than me. She knew that I was young and impressionable, and to this day I believe she used that against me. "Natalia is one of those people who are fucked up, in the sense that they let you get attached, and don't bother letting you know that she's not on the same page. She…strings you along." I leaned forward and reached for the vodka bottle. "I need another drink." But before I began to pour, I continued. "That's why I try to be honest. It took me months to recover from that, from loving someone so much, and realizing they didn't love you back. That sucks." I left the bottle on the table, forgotten, and sat back. "That's why I won't do that to Lauren."

The mood dropped a bit, grew temporarily darker, and I expected the boys to want to bail. They _did_ ask, didn't they? But instead, Connor's expression grew serious, as if lost in thoughts momentarily. And Murph said, "Aye, ye'd be an ass if ye just kept it a secret."

"Aye," Connor raised his drink. "Honesty's always the best policy."

I chuckled. "Like you earlier, with that _one o'clock_ bullshit?"

Murphy broke the sad mood with laughter, and Connor waved it off. "Psh, was just pickin' on ye." He motioned to his brother. "If we mess wit' ye, it means we like ye. Ye oughta consider it a compliment."

"Fine, I'll do that," I said, standing. "I'm going to go make some coffee. You guys want some?" It was time Vodka went to bed.

Connor placed his empty glass on the table. "Aye, I'm finished. I'll be shit fer work in the mornin'."

"Mind if I use yer restroom?" Murphy stood with me.

"Sure. Down the hall, First door on the right."

When I smashed two stools over a couple of thugs' heads, I didn't expect for this to be the result, Connor following me into the kitchen, and Murphy using my restroom. I'd just met these two last night. Well, technically, I'd only met Connor a few hours ago, for when he and I'd first made acquaintance, it was a shoulder bump and then he was passed out. I couldn't say that I was complaining, though. They were good company, and after the anxiety I dealt with all day concerning those two thugs, they definitely helped raise my spirits.

I cursed my giant of a housekeeper, Dora, when I opened my pantry to see the coffee was on the very top shelf. I groaned, turning around to look at Connor. He was leaning against my kitchen sink, hands bracing the edge of the counter top, causing the top of his shirt, near the neckline, to tighten over his chest. I tried to hide my admiration from my face, not sure how inconspicuous my checking him out was, and asked him, "Could I borrow your height really quick?"

Judgmentally impaired (thanks again, Vodka), when he moved from his position by the countertop, I didn't step aside. I only turned back towards the pantry, looking up at the top shelf, waiting for my coffee to come down to me, to be with me forever. Connor stepped behind me, reaching to the top shelf, even needing to lift onto his toes. Accidentally, his back touched mine, his hips pressing into my butt, pinning me to the edge of the counter. My breath hitched at the sensation, warmth instinctively and unexpectedly igniting in my lower abdomen.

Driven by curiosity more than anything, I looked at him from over my shoulder, and I could tell by the expression on his face that he was caught off guard just as much as me, but neither of us particularly disliked it. Slowly, as if worried I would scatter at any sudden movements, he placed the canister of coffee down onto the countertop. Restless, I turned around, now facing him, our abdomens touching. Neither of us had put any space in between us yet, and I could feel his breath on my cheeks.

For a second we just looked at each other, wondering what would happen if we just remained here, and – I suppose he was just ready for something to happen – he took my face in his hands. His calloused fingers were rough against my cheeks, and I could taste the whiskey on his breath as he tilted his head down, and kissed me.

Even though I had watched him for the entirety of this interaction, for some reason I was still taken off guard by the kiss, but I didn't move away. I didn't want to. I returned his kiss, quite hesitantly, at first, almost dazed at the contact, but a jolt went through my body, awakening me, as I felt his tongue run along my bottom lip. And then I was awake, I was alert. I tangled my fingers in his hair and leaned into him.

The warmth in my body began to grow, and we both became quite greedy with the kiss, my hands snug in his hair, his migrating to my waist. We were quite comfortable for two people who only formally met a few hours ago. An unexpected moan escaped my lips, and then I heard the bathroom door open, and the _click_ of the light being switched off.

Murphy was walking out of the bathroom, and before I even saw him, I managed to pull from the kiss, quite reluctantly and break the physical contact between Connor and me. His brows furrowed in confusion at the sudden escape, and he followed my eyes to the sight of Murphy making his way back into the living room, completely unaware of the situation at hand in the living room. Connor's eyes rolled in aggravation, but I could tell that there was a mutual understanding in the way he looked at me. The shock and unpleasantry of the separation faded, and he shot me a smirk.

"I hope Columbian is okay?" I called into the living room, returning back to reality, wearing my own smirk.


	2. Chapter 2

2\. Intrusion

I woke up with both of my cats curled up in my bed. I distinctly remember waking up several times throughout the night with them in the exact same position. "You both need jobs," I groaned, rolling out of bed.

I didn't remember telling the boys goodnight and heading off to bed, so that must have meant that my coffee did nothing. I was just as pissed after the brew as I had been before. _Starving _and with a pounding headache, I managed to make it the entire fifteen feet from my bed into the shower. Hot showers after a night of drinking are always wonderful. They just make you want to crawl back into bed because they're so relaxing, but they make you feel human again.

Wrapped in a towel, applying toothpaste to my toothbrush, there was a pleased smile on my face. "You idiot," I scolded, realizing I was giddy. "One night with two handsome men and a tongue down your throat and you're a mess." I emerged from the bathroom and pointed at my fat, lazy calico and my useless bobcat of a tabby. "You two aren't much better."

Clad in only a towel, I sauntered into the living room and rounded into the kitchen to pour a glass of orange juice for myself. Opening the fridge, my towel decided to unravel. Annoyed, I repositioned it and removed the juice from the fridge. Reaching into the cupboard, it came undone again. I lived alone for a reason. So, I just tore the towel off and onto the ground. "Fuck you, too," I spat to the towel.

"Well, 'at's not a very nice thing to say to a man jus' wakin' up, now, is it?" Murphy, who'd apparently been lying on the couch facing away from the bar, sat up, revealing himself to me.

With a gasp, I instinctively collapsed behind the counter. "Oh my God," I whispered. "That's just great."

"Avery?"

"What did you see?" I called from behind the counter, gathering the towel back up and rapidly wrapping it around myself.

"What are ye talkin' about?"

I rolled my eyes. _He really isn't trying to pretend like he just didn't see me naked, is he? _"Murphy, be honest,"

"I'm tellin ye, I just woke up. And I've got no idea what yer talkin' about."

Carefully, I stood, holding a death grip over the towel with one hand, and covering my butt with the other. "I didn't know you were still here." I revealed myself from behind the counter.

The confused expression he'd been wearing to match his tone relaxed, but then contorted into that of amusement.

My eyes shot around the apartment, looking for Connor, who was nowhere to be seen. "Where's your brother?"

Murphy stood and made his way into the kitchen, unaffected by my careful attempts at keeping my backside faced away from him. I slipped out of the kitchen toward the couch, grabbing the throw I kept sprawled over the back of the couch, and covered myself more securely. "He had work this mornin'. I passed out last night, and he certainly couldn't just leave me here, could he?"

I shook my head, not offended by their sleeping here last night. "I wouldn't expect you to."

"He carried you into yer room last night, and we crashed on the couch. This mornin' he woke me to tell me everythin." He smiled at me. "He told me that the coffee didn't do shit for ye."

I chuckled, more comfortable with the blanket wrapped around me. "Not a damn thing." Murphy poured himself a cold cup of coffee, and my stomach growled. I hadn't eaten dinner last night. That was probably why I got so drunk. Effectively, this left me hung over and starving. "Are you hungry?"

He chugged the cold coffee and shrugged. "I could eat."

There was a diner a few blocks away from my work I frequented. I loved the diner atmosphere, but ever since going vegan, eating out was virtually impossible. This place made any changes to the menu you wanted, and you could mix and match to your heart's content, which was pivotal to a vegan's eating out experience.

"Don't worry," I assured Murphy as we were sat with two menus. "I'm not going to give you the _Meat is Murder_ spiel."

"Good, 'cause it wouldn't of done ye any good."

The diner was rather empty for a Sunday morning. Typically the church crowd over ran the place, but I enjoyed the quiet. "I found this place about a year ago." I unraveled my paper napkin and placed it in my lap. "A coworker brought me here."

"Ye don't cross me as the diner type," he replied, lacing his fingers, resting his elbows on the table, and leaning in.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Who doesn't like diners? People without souls?

He shrugged. "The area ye live in. Yer apartment. The way ye dress."

Immediately self conscious and worried, I looked down at myself, reconsidering my attire. I'd just worn a sweater, some jeans, and a pair of boots. It was pretty basic.

He shook his head with a chuckle. "Talkin' about back at the bar. Not every day do ye see a girl in heels bashing a man o'er the head with a bar stool."

"Those were work clothes!"

"What're ye, a lawyer?"

I narrowed my eyes. "No, I work for a Woman's Lifestyle magazine, so looking nice is part of the job. Or at least for the one I work for." I took a minute to think about what he'd said. "_And what's wrong with my apartment?" _

He just laughed at me. I let it go, because I thought his laugh was cute.

A young and rather pretty waitress approached our table, with a professional smile and a ready notepad. "Hey, how are you guys doing this morning?" She seemed quite likeable, but once she saw Murphy, I did not exist.

"Good, and you?" he replied smiling.

_Stop that._ _You're my attractive friend. Stop flattering other girls._

"What can I get you to drink?"

"Coffee."

"Water," I said, attempting to reclaim my existence.

I got nothing.

Murphy pointed at me. "She'll take a water and…?" He waited for me to fill in the blanks.

"I'll take a hot tea. Earl Grey, please?"

"Earl Grey, please."

It was then when she finally looked at me, so she could make her little joke. "We've got Irish Breakfast tea." _Vomit._

"No, I think I got enough Irish in me last night," I joke, referring to the amount of drinking we'd done, and the stereotype that the Irish are heavy drinkers. It was when Murphy laughed that I realized what I'd just said. The waitress's eyes widened and she was quick to leave the table. "That came out wrong," I muttered, palming my forehead, and then called after the waitress defensively, "That's not what I meant!"

Murphy just laughed.

"Oh shut up," I spat. "I bet you're real pleased with that."

"I happen to be very pleased with the Irish in me."

I crumbled up my napkin and threw it at him.

I wasn't surprised when Murphy ordered the meat platter, and I ordered a bowl of soup with a cucumber salad. When we got our food and I began to dress my salad, Murphy looked at me as if I were sacrificing a sheep straight on the table.

"Would ye like a little salad to go with that there dressin'?"

"Hush, I like Italian."

He was too quick. "Apparently not the Irish, though, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "The more time I spend with you, yes."

Shoving lettuce and cucumber (_doused_ in dressing, apparently) into my mouth, I watched him very carefully separate all of his food. Sausage into one pile, bacon into another, ham steak in another, hash browns down by the side, egg in the middle, and toast set off onto a napkin.

"I guess you don't like your food touching, huh?"

"Can't stand it. Connor piles all his food up into a pile, and just devours it. It's disgustin'."

"I guess you lightly dress your salads, too."

My eyes wandered and I caught site of the magazine rack beside the bathroom entrance, and noticed the familiar hot pink logo of the magazine I worked for. Without word, I got up, walked over, and grabbed it. Back at the table, I plopped it in front of Murphy who looked at it quizzically.

"It's the magazine I work for. The owner started ordering it when he learned I was a regular. His daughter reads them."

Picking it up, there was a tall, thin woman on front, dressed in a sleek, black jump suit. It was our edition on fashionable exercise wear. Knowing full well that he was a man and had no interest in a woman's magazine, I took it from his fingers, and opened up to my column, placing it down in front of him.

His interest peaked, he dropped his fork, finishing the mouth full of food, and scanned the two-pages of my column. Wiping his hands with a napkin, he pointed to the top of the page. "That's a good picture of ye."

The same as every woman who ever lived, my immediate response was, "That's an awful picture of me." In order to be considered a woman, scientifically, you can only have four good pictures out of two thousand.

He sounded offended. "This is a good picture." His finger grazed over the image of my hair. "Ye look nice with ye hair down." Then he motioned to my hair across the table. "Ye should wear it down."

A goofy smile crept over my face. Flattery is the best way into the heart of a narcissist, which I happened to be.

His attention left my photograph, and over the column. "A relationship advice column?"

"Yep. I started off in the health section, but my boss moved me here after he found out about my dating lifestyle."

He honestly seemed impressed, and began reading over certain questions and my answers. _"_You told a woman to '_forget the home security system and just buy a bat?'_"

"Security systems are expensive." I sipped at my Earl Grey. "She couldn't afford it, and guns are complicated. Bats - not so much."

"I wouldn't necessarily call 'em _complicated._"

"My Dad's a cop. A lot of guys learn firearm management as a right to manhood, while women are stuck in the kitchen learning how to bake. If it was as common to teach your daughter how to use a firearm as it is for young men, we wouldn't need alarm systems."

He cocked a brow. "That so?"

"I was at a gun rage at age 13. I grew up in New York City. I was taught to defend myself. Most women are just told to use their keys to stab an eye out, but I think that's bullshit."

He didn't respond right away, chewing over my words as well as his food, and finally said in a suspicious tone, "Yer a feminist aren't ye?"

I don't know why I thought it was so funny, but I laughed out loud, demanding a curious stare from our waitress from across the diner. "No," as my laugh died down. "I'm not a feminist. Are you?" I slid my empty salad bowl aside.

"Fuck yeah, I am." Intense.

"Well, then."

"Our Da skipped out on our Ma when we were little, and she raised us all by herself, with a little help from relatives, all of which were women."

Pleased, I grinned at his words. I never would have guessed Connor and Murphy to be feminists, but I could sort of tell that they respected women; mostly by the way they weren't complete douche bags or over sexualized my attraction to girls.

"Our Ma raised us to respect women."

"Like Connor putting me to bed last night?"

"Ye woulda passed out on the couch, and we just couldn't have that." He smiled, sliding his plate to the side. "Connor surely woulda been on the floor."

"I have a guest room, by the way. You could have just taken that."

The waitress approached our table.

"I'll remember 'at the next time."

"How was everything?" beamed the waitress, not even acknowledging my existence. Couldn't blame her. He's hot.

"Wonderful," I replied, forcing her to look at me. "Can we have the check, please?"

"Same or separate?"

"Same," we said in unison.

The waitress walked away to print the check as I said, "My treat."

Narrowing his eyes, he merely shook his head. He was fast, when the waitress returned, snatching the slip of paper off the table before I could even move.

"Come on!" It came out in a whine. "It's the least I can do after last night. You guys brought me beer, and tolerated my drunken ramblings about my shitty love life."

He pulled out his wallet, placed cash on the table, and stood. "Connor and I drank the beer. And ye said yerself ye don't drink it, and ye weren't babblin', nor was it of a shitty love life."

I followed him out of the diner. "Yeah, but you guys did put me to bed. You didn't have to do that."

He threw a smirk over his shoulder. "If only ye were naked, then, too."

Now on the sidewalk in the crisp air, I stopped in my tracks. With a mixture of seriousness and amusement, I asked, "Murph I need you to tell me the truth."

"Yeah?"

Keeping my tone steady, with a collected mindset, I said carefully, "Did you see me naked this morning?"

The smirk said it all. "Right before ye ducked down behind the counter."

With a groan, I threw my head back. "Of course you did."

"Hey, I didn't say it was a bad thing."

"What?"

He didn't say anything. He only turned on his heels and walked away.

It was crowded at McGinty's Monday night, so I wasn't really concerned about mobsters coming in and stirring up a fuss. The customers were rowdy, and they were happily drunk. It was a sea of cheerfulness and alcohol produced jubilance. I was the sore thumb, stomping through the door and directly to the bar.

Murphy caught sight of me, and slid a seat over, offering the stool between himself and Connor to me. I took the seat without a smile or a greeting, surely a scowl plastered upon my face.

"Jack and Coke?" asked Abbey, which was the usual for me.

I shook my head. "Nope, I'm going straight for the vodka tonight."

Murphy's eyes already having been on me due to my refusal at the typical pleasantries, Connor turned from his conversation in concern, detecting that something was clearly wrong.

I handed my credit card to Abbey. "Just keep this. It's gonna be a while." Abbey detected an issue as well, but was wise enough to know when to just let something go, and allow a customer to steam. Murphy and Connor weren't on that same page.

"Everythin' alright, Avery?" inquired Murphy.

Not answering straight away, I threw the shot of vodka back. "Nope," I sighed.

"Bad day at the office?" Connor said it in a teasing tone, but he quickly caught on that I wasn't laughing. "Seriously, what's up?"

This had just turned out to be a bit of a shitty day. Work in general was just aggravating, with a deadline moving up four days, and then I had an amazingly _awful_ conversation with my father. And finally, there was Lauren. What a gem. "Talked with Lauren," I said in almost a sigh, sliding my shot glass to the edge of the bar, waving at Abbey. "Go ahead and just bring me two more and a glass of Sprite, please."

As Abbey poured my shots and drink, Murphy and Connor threw a bemused look at one another. Murphy, apparently brave enough to dive into this black hole, asked, "Guessin' it didn't go too well?"

I scoffed. "Oh, what an understatement of the fucking century." Second shot.

There was a pause before Connor mustered up, "You wanna talk about it?"

Did I want to talk about it? I hadn't said anything to anyone all day about the conversation Lauren and I had had that morning. Slowly, I placed down my shot glass by the first, and began unbuttoning my blouse. Their eyes widened at the very action, but I ignored it. It wasn't like I was going to just strip in the middle of the bar. Calm down, guys.

After undoing the first four or five buttons, I pulled the collar apart wide enough for them to see the gash just below my collar bone.

"_Jesus!"_ exclaimed Connor.

Murphy leaned in, being completely respectful in not paying attention to the bit of exposed cleavage, to inspect the wound. "What is that?"

"Lauren."

"What'd she do, try to fuckin' kill ye?" said Connor, incredulously. "Go on, then, spill it!"

"I had the talk with her," I said, grabbing the third shot.

"Well, I coulda guessed 'at. How'd you get _that?_" He pointed to the cut.

Murphy insisted we move to a booth, to provide us with a little bit more privacy, so that I could speak freely. I like to pride myself in my privacy, hence why I lived alone. I enjoyed being able to walk naked around my apartment and do whatever I want, without hesitation. I was particular about what I said at work, and I was careful when first meeting someone. Connor and Murphy, who'd I befriended fairly quickly, really were just special cases.

But I was three shots in and I was having a shitty day, leaving me unfiltered and my desire to censor myself almost nonexistent.

My head fell into my hands. "It was awful." So _fucking_ awful. And then it all came out in a jumble after that. "I was giving her head, and she was enjoying herself, I guess." Connor and Murph were caught off guard by the detail. "And we were in the bedroom, and then fucking Jeremy calls."

"That lad who called the other night?" Murph said before taking a sip at his beer.

I nodded my head. "He was calling to confirm the date, and when Lauren realized that I'd had a date with someone else, she went fucking nuts."

Connor leaned in. "How long you been seein' this girl anyway?"

"The night I saw her at the bar was the second time we got together. We'd met at a party, and it was really only supposed to be a onetime thing."

"So today was yer third meetin'?"

"_Meetin'?"_ Murphy teased his brother's words.

"Oh, shut up."

I smiled at the little exchange. They were bringing my spirits up. I'd noticed they had a habit of that. "Yeah, today was the third. But then that fucking answering machine went off."

"So when did she throw the glass at ye?"

I lifted my hands from my head and leaned back into the booth, accidentally brushing shoulders with Murphy. He didn't move, and neither did I. Honestly, I enjoyed the human touch. It was comforting. I could hear the disbelief in my own voice, and I had actually been there and witnessed the ordeal. "We just started arguing and it just escalated from there. And she threw a vase at me."

Connor shot back in his seat. "_A fuckin' vase?" _

"Well, maybe not at me," I said, bending down to pull my heels off (_fucking death traps)_ and returning to my close proximity to Murphy. "She threw it at the wall beside me, _but_ barely missed me. And when the glass shattered…" I motioned to my exposed cut. Then, I realized my shirt was still open and began clamoring with the buttons. "Jesus, I guess I should put my fucking clothes back on."

Murphy readjusted in his seat, careful not to move too far away from me. _Squee._ "She threw a vase at ye?" It seemed he couldn't wrap his head around it.

"Not at me," I corrected.

But he waved me off and pointed to the gash underneath my shirt. "That says otherwise." He looked at his brother and said, "What a bitch."

"Whoa, whoa!" I said, surprised by the name calling. "What happened to the feminism spiel yesterday?"

"That only goes fer women who aren't psycho and throwin' dangerous items at our friends."

Connor gestured towards his brother. "What he said."

"I'm guessin' you dumped her, then?"

"I mean, we weren't really together in order for her to be dumped."

"She apparently thought differently."

"Well, to answer your question: no, I won't be seeing her anymore. She's," I rolled the word around in my head before saying it, "psycho, as you said." And ain't nobody got time for psycho.

"Well it's settled then!" announced Connor joyfully, waving at Abbey. "Let's get you properly drunk, then."

I held my hands up in defense, glancing warily at both the men. "No, no, no!"

Murph nudged me in the shoulder. "Come on, ye need ferget about today."

"Boys, as much as I love the attempts at making me feel better, I do have work in the morning." I stacked my three shot glasses. "And I've pushed my luck enough as it is."

"Come on," nudged Connor. "Then just let us order ye a beer?"

I groaned, screwing my face up. "I hate beer." What a whine.

Murphy laughed as Connor continued to insist. "Well, Doc's got a great hard apple cider that you might like, then. It'll be perfect for yer girly tastes."

My eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure if that's an insult or not."

"Connor, just order her the cider."

Connor attempted to wave the waitress over, but it was obvious how swamped she was. Busied by a table of demanding men, we could see the anxiety building, her noticeably struggling to run back and forth between tables. Finally, she was able to make her way to our table, with a look of sincerity. "I'm so sorry, guys!"

"It's fine," I assured her. "I was a waitress in college. I know your pain."

Abbey bent down in front of the table, her eyes bouncing between the three of us. "I know that this is totally random, but I'm dying out there. Doc is about to call some people in to help out with the rush, but we're totally out of two different beers behind the bar. Doc says you guys are like family and wouldn't mind grabbing a case from the beer cooler?"

Feeling compassionate for the poor girl, I felt myself stand before Connor or Murphy could answer. I'd been in her situation before, swamped with not enough staff to handle the customers, and from the experience of needing that kind of help, I was more than eager to give it. "I'll go grab it for you." Just grab two cases of beer, and be done with it.

"It's alright, we got it," tried Connor.

But I was already up and making my way for the cooler. "It's cool. I got it!"

The concrete flooring of the beer cooler was miraculous on my aching feet. I needed to look into some more comfortable shoes, or at least some inserts for those death spikes. I was beginning to realize that I was peeling them off more than actually wearing them. What's the point of dropping good money on something you're not even properly using?

The chilliness of the cooler was refreshing on my body altogether. As fall approached, Doc had been pumping up the heater of the bar, and combined hoards of warm bodies, that sucked for my being warm natured. So for a second, I just enjoyed the temperature and the silence the thick, insulated walls provided, placing my forehead on one of the silver shelves. What a shitty day. And Lauren _throwing_ something at me, something of mine, in my own apartment? What was that? I'd had people who handled the open relationship thing badly, but she and I hadn't even been properly dating. As far as I was concerned, she overreacted.

As I scanned the shelving unit for the crate of beer, it'd just occurred to me that I hadn't even taken the time to find out what kind I needed to grab. It was then that the door opened behind me. Murphy let in a gust of warm air, but I didn't pay it any mind as he closed the door behind him, stepping into the cooler with me.

There wasn't very sufficient lighting in the cooler, only the light from the hallway outside, casting through the frosty window of the bulky, metal door. But I could see a slightly different expression on Murphy's face that I hadn't seen before. Serious, intentional. He didn't say anything, didn't smile, or make a joke about how I'd just ran off without the right information.

He took a minute to read my body language, and once he decided it was okay, he closed the space between us, his boots thudding on the concrete flooring, his hands snaked over my waist. I could feel shelves press into my back as he leaned into me. One of his hands migrated from my waist to my cheek, tilting my head up, and he kissed me. It was an interesting sensation, the contrast of his bodily warmth all over me standing in the cooler. It was nice. I braced myself, holding onto his back, and reveled in the taste of cigarettes and mint.

My heart sped up and my skin tingled as his lips moved over mine. He kissed differently than his brother, which isn't surprising, but it was the difference between the kisses that interested me. Connor's, who is louder and more outgoing, was hungrier and slightly more primal. Murphy's, a bit quieter, more calculated, and slightly more particular with his responses, were careful, but by no means gentle or delicate. His lips moved deliberately against mine, almost possessively, but he was very controlled.

As the kiss deepened, when he was confident in my acceptance, his hand on my waist slid farther down, and firmly gripped my butt, lifting me upward, closer to him. My ears drowned in the sounds of our skin moving against each other, the clinking of the bottles as we adjusted, and our heavy breaths. Beginning to feel a little light headed at the blood rush, I pulled away from his lips, but not breaking the embrace.

I felt a wave of euphoria slither up my body, from my toes to my head, causing the hair on the back of my neck to tingle. Murphy's breath was warm against my neck as he tried to collect himself, and I could feel a tightness in his jeans against my hips. After a shitty day, this was a complete pick-me-up.

"That was a pleasant surprise," I whispered against his neck.

He lifted his head, revealing the smirk on his lips. "Shoulda done 'at yesterday. Been beatin' meself up ever since."

I mirrored his smirk. "Can't be living with regrets now, can we?"

He gave a soft chuckle and sadly (oh, so sadly) took a step back, severing our shared warmth and I was invaded by cold air. _Thank you Jesus for padded bras._ "I guess we should actually bring back the beer, huh?"

"I think that would be best," I said teasingly. I watched him stack one case on top of another, and hoist it off of the shelf and aim for the door. "I can grab one of those if you want?"

He shook his head. "No, can't be havin' a lady doin' the heavy liftin' when I'm perfectly capable." We stepped out of the cooler and he looked at me curiously. "Is _lady_ a'right?"

Flattered that he remembered my little quirk, I grinned from ear to ear. "Of course, that's fine."

We started walking again towards the bar area. "I could call ye ma'am if ye want?" mischief in his tone.

"No, I think I'd like too much."

"Oh, is that so?"

Connor must have been getting drunk, because he didn't seem to notice anything between me and his brother. Yes, it occurred to me that I'd just kissed both of these men within a twenty-four hour period, but it's not I was dating either one of them, and they instigated the interactions. And they were just kisses. There weren't any rings involved.

As we sat down to join Connor, and a newly arrived Rocco, Murph made sure to sit next to me, despite the empty space beside his brother, as Rocco had pulled a chair up to the end of the table.

I had a fragrant hard apple cider waiting on me with Connor's promise behind its worth. The boys all watched, gauging my reaction as I took the first sip, and all erupted into cheers as I gave my nod of approval, almost embarrassed at the attention. "It's good, I like it."

"Good!" applauded Connor. "After 'at, we'll start workin' yep up to the good stuff."

"How do you not like beer?" asked Rocco incredulously. "You can take shots of vodka but not a light beer?"

"How do you _like_ beer?" I countered. "It tastes like piss and sweat."

"How do ye know what piss and sweat tastes like and 'at's only the shitty beer."

Murphy nudged me softly. "Don't worry. We'll show ye the beers worth drinkin' and steer ye away from the shitty ones." He eyed his friends playfully. "The ones 'at taste like piss an' sweat, 'at is."

The boys managed to convince me to let them buy me a second, slightly different cider. And when I stood to leave, Connor insisted he pay for my drinks for the night. Murphy told me it was useless to deny his brother, and walked me outside.

In the crowd of the bar, my arousal had dulled slightly. But the crispness of the air outside reminded me of our antics in the beer cooler as I watched him attempt to hail me a cab. As a cab slowed and came to a halt beside us at the curb, I saddened at the idea of leaving his side, wanting so badly to reawaken the connection.

"How completely terrible would I look if I invited you over?" Blunt.

Smirk. "Not at all."

It took all the decency I was raised with not to jump him in the back of the cab, but it didn't stop hands from roaming right under the hem of my skirt, or the passionate kiss and bites he trailed down the sensitive tendons of my neck. I was covered in chills at the light sensations, almost inconspicuous in the back of the dark cab.

The concierge gave me the normal, cordial pleasantries at the front desk, and we'd deliberately chosen an empty elevator, taking the extra moment to wait for a second one to come down when only an old lady occupied the first.

There were security cameras in the elevators, but I don't think Murphy cared and I sure as hell didn't. As desperate I was for his hands all over me, he hadn't gotten the opportunity to do much because the elevator ride was too short, or perhaps it was my fucked up perception of time. But the door to my apartment didn't cause us much trouble. It was closed behind us quickly, and I was pinned against the wall of the entryway.

His chest was firm against mine and his hands were eager, hiking my skirt up and caressing the flesh of my thighs. I was completely immobilized, his lips roaming my neck, his other free hand fondling my breast, and his legs positioned in between mine. It's not like I had intentions on going anywhere, anyway.

My brain was completely useless and I was totally unaware of my surroundings. It was heaven to be pinned underneath him, ravaged by his lips and hands, and the hardness of his pants pressing into me only turned me on even more.

Fingers of one hand tangled in his hair, and the others invaded the underneath of his shirt, discovering the indentions and curves of his back. He shivered as I trailed along the bottom of his spine. I smiled against his lips, pleased with myself.

I assumed we would migrate to the bedroom, but it was obvious he had none of those intentions as his fingers found the elastic of my underwear, hooked, and sent them falling at my ankles. My core pulsated, excited that now since I was ridden of that important little shred of fabric, maybe I'd get some direct attention soon. He had the same thing on his mind as he pulled away from me, resting his forehead on mind to gauge my reaction, and slowly worked his way up my inner thighs. My hands retreated from their places and formed a death grip on the collar of his shirt as the anticipation overwhelmed me.

Then, the damn phone rang.

"Ignore it," I pleaded. "Please just keep going."

He took his sweet time, teasing, beating his way around the important area. My clitoris was throbbing, and somebody wasn't helping. "Murph, can we please just cut to the chase, here?" I mumbled against his lips.

And he was about to comply. He'd moved to touch me, possibly finger me, and give me an amazing orgasm that I know that I really, really fucking needed. But the final ring to the phone sounded, and the answering machine went off.

"_Avery, it's Lauren… I know we got in a fight today, but I need your help. Something… Something just happened."_

I was pulled out of my sexual euphoria with my attractive Irishman, and detected the fear in Lauren's voice. I was hasty in breaking the embrace between Murphy and ran to the phone, trying to catch her before she hung up.

"Lauren!" I almost yelled into the phone. "What happened?"

At the sound of her voice, distinct with the roughness of having been crying, all my anger towards her immediately vanished. "I just got home from my shift at work, and my apartment's a mess. Someone broke in. I didn't want to call the pol- Avery I don't know what to do. Is it- Could it be those guys from the bar? The thugs?"

My arousal was left forgotten, and the anxiety I'd experienced at the bar hit me like a train, dirty dancing with a dose of fear. I couldn't help but picture Lauren's apartment in shambles, her stabbed or shot in the middle of it, all because of one stupid moment from me. Despite the thoughts rushing through my mind, I was able to tell myself that I had no details and that I was jumping to conclusions. It wasn't the time to panic.

"Will you come over?" she pleaded.

"Of course. I'm leaving right now." I didn't even bother saying goodbye as I jogged to my underwear at Murphy's feet and gathered up my purse. "Somebody broke into Lauren's apartment, and it might have been those assholes at the bar." I knew that Murphy was probably taken by surprise at the news, and at my running for the door, but as far as I was concerned, I didn't have any time to explain. In the doorway, realizing he wasn't at my heels, I was firm. "Are you coming? Because I'll go alone if I have to."

It only took him a second to register what was going on. He gathered himself mentally, straightened his clothes, and followed me out of the apartment, to the elevator.

Murphy called Connor at the concierge desk of my building, deciding it may be best to have some backup. We arrived at Lauren's apartment complex right as Connor and Rocco did. Upstairs, her apartment was a mess. It had been completely destroyed. Couch pillows ripped apart, mirrors shattered, dishware broken in the bottom of the sink.

Lauren was a mess. She was scared shitless, and I had confirmation looking at her that she'd been crying, her makeup running, and black streaking her cheeks.

Now, Connor stood next to Lauren's flipped couch, leaning against the wall his hands in his pockets. Lauren sat on the edge of her coffee table, a tissue in her hands. I kneeled at her side, a comforting hand on her shoulder, peering up at her. Murph stood not too far behind me.

"I didn't know if I should call the police," she wailed. "Because you insisted we shouldn't the other night and if it was these guys – Ugh, I'm just so fucking confused. Why did they break into my apartment? I didn't even do anything!" I felt like a piece of shit. If it was those thugs, then that made this entire thing my fault. If only I'd minded my own business.

"It's okay, it's okay," I soothed, taking a seat beside her on the table. "You did the right thing calling me. These situations get confusing sometimes."

"What should we do?"

My eyes shot over the tornado of the apartment, kitchen table broken in half, television smashed, picture frames thrown onto the ground, school papers strewn on the floor. Hell, they'd even ripped the blades off the ceiling fan. This wasn't a robbery. This was straight up vandalism.

"It wasn't them," announced Connor confidently from behind us.

I looked over my shoulder, "What makes you say that?"

But Rocco emerged from the hallway, grabbing our attention. "I checked all the closets, bathrooms, cabinets, and all of that shit, and there ain't _nobody_ here." Rocco had been reluctant to check, absolutely insisting that no one could possibly be here.

Murphy crossed his arms with a sigh. "We're tellin' ye Avery, it wasn't them."

I felt anger swell, looking between the three of them. "How can you all be so sure?" Jesus, did they know something I didn't?

Connor moved from his position on the wall, and he sauntered towards the door of her apartment. "Let's talk for a minute, Avery."

Lauren looked at me with fearful eyes, and I honestly didn't want to leave her alone. "Rocco, will you stay with her while I talk with Murph and Connor outside."

He seemed a little uncomfortable, but agreed.

Outside the apartment, Connor addressed me in a hushed voice. "I know yer freaked out from what happened the other night, Avery, but ye've gotta trust us on this. It wasn't those thugs."

What the fuck was this? As soon as we'd arrived at her apartment, Connor and Murphy had automatically ruled the thugs out. There was _no_ way it could be them. There was no possible way those thugs could have realized who we were, tracked one of us home, and completely obliterated our apartment while we were gone. Why was that so impossible to them? How easy had it been for Connor and Murphy to find out where I lived? Wouldn't it be just as easy to find Lauren? I knew from context clues of conversation that she had a tab at McGinty's, being a regular, too.

It just enraged me. They'd been so nice the night they came over and had even been helpful today in attempts to cheer me up. They'd returned my coat to me as well as my very important credit card. I didn't know these two well enough to say that their indifference was out of character, but I didn't like it.

I didn't bother whispering. "This is a joke, right?" My arms were folded defensively as I bounced back between the two of them. "Her apartment is in _shambles_, and she's not much better."

"Ye think this is the mob, he tried confidently. "But it isn't."

I was so aggravated, I wanted to scream. "Ugh, why are you so fucking sure?"

Murphy's voice was soft, soothing almost. "Avery, please, trust us."

I took a deep breath, trying to collect myself. Lauren and I both couldn't be a mess during all of this. I needed to remain calm. "Well, what do you expect us to do?"

Murphy was quick. "Call the police."

I wasn't stupid. A retired cop's daughter, I knew that you had to be really particular when dealing with the mob. The scared side of me told me to leave the cops out of this, in fear of being labeled a rat. The logical side of me, the cop's daughter in me, told me to call my father and then the Boston police department. "I don't want her to get in trouble, guys."

"Aye." I felt Connor's fingertip underneath my chin, urging me to look up. "She won't be in trouble."

"Why are you so sure?" I felt like a broken record.

"Jus' are, Ave," added Murphy. "Tell her to report this to the police. It's not mob related. We promise."

I felt like was jumping off of an airplane without a parachute, being told to just expect a nice soft pillow at my eventual destination. I don't like to refer to myself as a control freak, but I do like having a firm grip on any situation I'm in. I like to know what's happening, when, and what dangers it may involve. I was absolutely not in control, and I hated it. I didn't know who did this. I felt like I couldn't get answers from Murphy and Connor, who were obviously leaving out an important detail. And Lauren was a freaking wreck, and I didn't know how to console her.

I knew when I'd handed the phone to Lauren to call the police that I would be taking the day off of work tomorrow. I promised her I'd stay with her to fill out the police report and answer any questions. After the police was called, I called my father, who agreed with Connor and Murphy that it may be unlikely that this was a mob related situation. "_It's just not their style, Cupcake,"_ he'd said. As unsure of his words as I was, it was nice to have his reassurance. I am a Daddy's Girl, after all.

Connor and Murphy waited downstairs, not really caring to be a part of the questioning process. Rocco just bailed and went home, with a few kind words to Lauren. And it was midnight before all of the police were gone. Lauren was told to go stay with her Mother until they could get her apartment back in living condition and for the renter's insurance to kick in.

It was almost one o'clock by the time we were in the lobby of my apartment building, Connor and Murphy standing in front of me with earnest expressions. "Are ye sure ye don't want us to come up and check out the apartment?" Murphy asked for the fourth time.

"Guys, I'm tired. I'm sure it's fine." I was just ready to get to bed. This day had been shit and my body was just ready to collapse.

I could sense the irritation in Connor as he stomped over to the concierge desk, scribbled on a piece of paper, and then walked back over to me, shoving it into my hands. "Ye'll call us, if ye need us, right?"

"You guys are sweet," I smiled. "But I'll be fine." Still, I took the piece of paper from Connor. I assumed it would be useful information for the future. Lifting up on my toes, I placed a kiss on both their cheeks."I'll see you later."

The boys didn't begin to walk away until I was stepping onto the elevator. As the doors closed in front of me, I was granted the first moment of peace for the day, silence overtaking me. I felt a weight lift as my eyes fell closed and I let out a long, controlled breath. What a terrible, terrible day. The argument with Lauren, a stressful talk with Daddy at work today, then at the apartment, the deadline at work being moved up, the gash on my neck, the unfinished business between Murphy and me, Lauren's apartment, and the secrets being kept by Connor and Murphy.

Not to mention, it finally occurred to me, now having the opportunity to properly think, that I've kissed both Connor and Murphy. I'd more than kissed Murphy. In fact, I almost slept with him tonight. I could tell by the way Connor and Murphy interacted with one another that they were close. Would they tell each other about their attraction to me? Would they be angry to know that they'd both made moves? I couldn't help but assume that, even though Connor's kiss was really hot, it was after a few drinks, right? Not that we didn't know what we were doing. We certainly did.

But I'd spent more time with Murphy. We'd had lunch, the moment in the cooler, and the almost-sex in my foyer. To be completely honest, it was just physical. I liked the boys, don't get me wrong. They were lovely to be around, and they certainly put a smile on my face, but I'd only known them for three days, now, and I wasn't going to assume one of them was in love with me. This was just a bunch of flowing physical attraction.

I was also very used to multiple partners. It didn't affect me to kiss one boy and turn around and kiss another. This was normal for me. But they were brothers. Hopefully, they would communicate to one another, and with time, the details would become clear, putting everyone on the same page. Whatever the case may be, it was almost one o'clock in the morning, and I was beat.

The elevator dinged as it reached my floor. The keys slid into the door without a problem, and one of my cats rubbed about my leg as I entered. I shed off my shoes for the final time that night, peeling off my jacket, and dropped my purse on the floor. My bed was soft and welcoming underneath my aching body. I knew I needed to take off my makeup, but I was just done. So, so done.

I heard a meow from the foot of the bed. Sitting up, I saw Libby staring up at me expectantly. Those poor babies. They hadn't been fed yet. "I'm sorry Libs," I said, picking myself up off the bed. "Momma got home late. I'll feed you, now." She was ridden with excitement as she trotted with me to the kitchen. But something was missing. Something was wrong.

Filling up both bowls, with only one kitty chowing down, I stood up, confused. "Kirk?" I called into my dark, empty apartment. "Baby boy?" Kirk was my hungry one. He never missed a meal. I turned on the kitchen light, casting a soft glow among the rest of the apartment. Kirk came running in from the balcony, meowing cheers of dinner time, and came to my feet. As happy as I was to have both of my furry babies accounted for, I was totally distracted by the disturbing details before me.

He came running in from the balcony. The door was open. I hadn't used the balcony today.

Someone had been in my home.


	3. Chapter 3

Dangerous Territory

Lauren wasn't the only one whose privacy had been invaded. When I'd returned home from helping Lauren file police reports and answer a plethora of repetitive questions, my balcony door had been left open. The last person inside my apartment was me. As taught by my father, I always check windows and possible entryways before leaving my home. A female living alone can't be too careful.

I'd managed to catch Connor and Murphy before they left. They'd been making their way to the subway, enjoying a smoke, when Craig, the concierge, ran after them and informed them of an emergency. I'm sure I looked pitiful, arms crossed, eyes glossy with tears I was trying my hardest to fight back.

The boys immediately investigated the apartment, checking all the windows, the balcony, the front door, and all possible hiding places in case my new friend was attempting to stay the night.

Connor came in from the balcony and shed his long coat over one of my sofas. "Yer only four stories up. That's not that hard to get into."

Murphy was able to convince me to shower and change while they inspected the apartment. I was finally out of those Godforsaken death spikes, and into a long, fluffy sweater. Despite what comfort it usually gave me, I wasn't feeling it tonight. "How is that possible?" Is James Bond scaling down buildings into my apartment?

"All ye have to do is find somebody wit' an unlocked door on the floor either above or below ye," said Murphy, emerging from the guest bedroom. "It's not that hard."

I plopped down onto the sofa where Connor had laid his jacket. "I guess I have to take back everything I said about home security systems. Huh, Murphy?"

He shrugged and sat on the sofa opposite me. "It wouldn't be a bad idea."

"Are ye gonna call the police?" Connor took a seat beside me.

"No, because they really weren't that much help at all with Lauren. I've got a friend of the force. He tells me how overrun they are with the mob related crimes lately. I'm not surprised."

"Well, ye should at least call yer dad." Murphy leaned in. "He's a cop, right?"

"My father is five hours away, you guys."

"Jus' call 'em?"

Apparently Murphy and Connor didn't understand the extent of a father's love for his daughter. "If I call my Dad, he will get on the first plane here. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he'd drive."

"You serious?" said Connor, surprised.

"I'm his only child, _and_ I'm his daughter. My parents and I have a very close relationship. I'd like to keep them out of this if I can."

"Well, can ye call that cop friend of yers? Maybe get his two cents into it?"

I supposed it was my only option. Daddy was worried enough as it was, especially after hearing Lauren's place was broken into. I could call a security company in the morning to install a system, and ask a few questions to Craig. Even Craig wouldn't be able to do much. He'd worked the front desk ever since I moved here and he was a hard worker, but almost a hundred people lived in this building. There's no telling how easy it would be for someone to sneak passed, perhaps in a crows full of people, get into an unlocked apartment, and _somehow_ get onto my balcony.

Lost in thought, my eyes absent mindedly fell onto the broken vase from this morning. At least that was the only thing that was broken today – Wait a minute.

"Guys." I shot up straight.

"Yeah?" they said in unison. What a twin thing.

"Lauren's place was a fucking wreck. Why not mine?"

I watched their eyes meet, shift to me, and then both sets of eyes fell to the ground.

"What is it?"

It took a minute for one of them to respond, but Murphy stood up and took step closer to me, sitting on my coffee table. "We didn't want to scare ye."

Here we go again, with details I don't know about. "What?"

"It doesn't make sense for someone to go through all this trouble, get Lauren's place real good, and then not do a thing to yers."

"Yeah," added Connor. "He even left the door open. That means he was probably in a rush."

The puzzle pieces fell into place, and my already elevated anxiety levels just dropped from pure exhaustion. I felt a foreign calmness wash over me. "Oh," I said almost indifferently. "He was still here when I came home the first time." My expression was blank as I rolled everything around in my head.

He must have done Lauren's apartment, and then made his way over to mine. But as soon as he'd managed to get to mine, Murphy and I had come bursting through the door. So he left just as soon as he arrived. But it was so chilling, the idea that I was in the same room as this unknown perpetrator.

That is, if he's even really unknown. I wasn't sure which idea I was more comfortable with. That this was the work of those two goons at the bar, or an unknown assailant. But why me _and _Lauren? It had to have been the mob guys, right? _Right_?

I stood up without another word on the topic. I was sure my sudden attitude change was confusing the boys, the sudden lack of concern, but I was exhausted. It was two in the morning, and I was just ready to collapse. "I'm going to bed."

They understood. They didn't demand that we talk about it, or ask any other questions. Lord knows I'd done enough of that at Lauren's. Connor and Murph simply stood as I made my way to the bedroom.

"Murph and I will stay with ye tonight, in case he decides to come back."

I stopped in my tracks. What?

"Murph, I'll take the couch since ye got work in the mornin."

Then I heard Murphy's voice behind me. "Ye need anythin' else before we all go to bed, Avery?"

I spun around. "You guys don't have to do this."

"Uh…what?"

I motioned around the apartment. "This isn't your problem. Honestly I shouldn't have even bothered you with it to begin with. I should have just called the cops." I crossed my arms, receding into myself.

Murphy approached me, taking my face in his hands. It wasn't romantic, but it was genuinely comforting. "Ye not botherin' us, Avery."

"Yeah, lass, why would ye even think that?" Connor almost sounded hurt, so I left the _lass_ thing alone.

I shrugged my shoulders as Murphy released me. "I don't know. I guess I just met you guys, and you're both just…" I bounced between them, struggling for the words. "Pretty awesome, I guess."

Murphy smiled. "It's what we do."

Connor began adjusting the throw pillows and blankets on the couch for his shift. "We'd be shitty men if we just abandoned ye in yer time of need."

The sudden indifference began to slip away, and thankfully wasn't replaced by the overwhelming reigns of anxiety. I genuinely felt better knowing that they were here. And it was nice to have a little back up.

"Well, okay then," I began towards my bedroom door. "I'm gonna take tomorrow off work, so I guess I'll just see you in the morning?"

"I got a shift at work tomorrow," informed Murphy. "I'll see ye after that, before Connor has to leave for his."

They're trading shifts as my body guard? Accompanied by a handsome Irishman twenty-four-seven? I could handle that.

"Alright…well… Goodnight."

They said it unison. Surprise. "G'night."

* * *

The nights of the city casted a soft glow onto the floor of my apartment, which trickled along the dark oak floors and up the lavender bed spread I'd cocooned inside. My breathing was still regular from sleep, but my eyes were woken from the disturbance as I lifted myself sleepily to peer at the door. The dark silhouette of Murphy stood in front of my door, closing it slowly and quietly behind him.

My shitty experiences of today were washed away, muted partially by sleep, but mostly by the excitement of having this handsome man in my bedroom. I sat up straight, adjusting the sheets and blankets around me as he took a step forward. The mattress shifted underneath me when he crawled on top of it, causing me to lay back down so that he could adjust himself over me. We didn't say anything, no verbal communication of our discontent with the unfinished fun from earlier. It was unspoken and desperately mutual.

I reveled in his weight above me, wrapping my legs around his waist instinctively, my bare skin contrasting with the sensation of the thick denim of his clothing. He held himself up with his elbows on either side of my chest, and my hands tangled in his hair as he craned his neck down to kiss me. Suddenly, I wasn't so pouty about not getting sleep anymore. I would more than willing make this sacrifice.

I could hear our breaths interrupt the silent night air and the few, quiet moans I allowed myself to illicit. Connor was in the living room after all. Murphy took a moment to readjust, trailing his lips, gently but deliberately, down my neck and causing my core to tingle as he gave a soft, long thrust in between my legs. I had a sharp intake of breath, my eyes rolling shut, my fingers tightening in his hair. I could hear him chuckle onto my neck, pleased with himself. He should be.

He supported himself with one hand, using the other to trail up my sweater, this time unaffected by layers of clothing like before. His hand was eager to find my breast, and caused me to twitch as those chilly finger tips caressed the top and massaging the sensitive tissue underneath the mound.

He moved his lips to the other side of my neck, to replicate the attention the first had received, nipping at the skin underneath my ear, kissing and licking down to the area about my collar bone. And then he stopped, his lips pausing for a moment. At first assuming it was just him adjusting or trying to catch his breath, I thought nothing of it.

But looking down I could see him staring at the wound I'd received this morning. The furrows between his brows and the subtle look of concern brought a sweet smile to my face. His fingertip skimmed underneath the cut, and I took his hand in mind, stealing his attention away from it. "It's fine," I urged in a whisper. It stung a little bit, but for the most part it would be fine.

That seemed to please him, because his expression melted away and his lips returned to mine, hungrier, tongue invading my mouth. I was happy with the sudden change of attitude, his hand that had caressed my wound and breast now slipping underneath me and taking a firm grip of my ass, using the leverage to thrust against my sensitive parts, rougher than before. Another whimper escaped, definitely louder than the others, and it was hard for him to suppress the smirk against my lips.

With the intense lip action and the decadently beautiful thrusts he was eliciting onto me, I was beginning to get greedy, needing just a little more. I abandoned his hair, running my hands down his chest and abdomen, resting at his belt buckle. I was ready to go to town and start removing some of these awful layers of clothing, but he caught onto my intentions and apparently disagreed, removing my hands from his belt buckle, pinning them above my head.

I couldn't help the smile of mischief that took residence, and I could tell he was pleased with himself, too. His lips trailed away from mine again, and he nibbled at the curvature of my throat and his tongue dipped into the space in between my collar bones. He stretched at the wide collar of my sweater, exposing the cleavage of my breasts, running his tongue along the creases and curves. Finally he lifted the bottom of my shirt up, bunching the fabric up at my rip cage, and I wiggled as he attacked the sensitive skin of my abdomen. My hands were released, but only so that my middle could be pinned as his teeth ran along my hipbones and the indentions in between.

His lips lingered along the elastic of my underwear lightly, teasing. My stomach receded and expanded rapidly as I gasped at his touch. Finally, after a century of cruel and unusual punishment, his fingers hooked around the sides of my underwear, and he sat up and back. I helped him out, lifting my legs directly into the air, parallel with him as he took his sweet fucking time removing them. As the fabric was pulled from around my ankles and tossed to the side, he placed both calloused hands on the sides of my ankles, slipping down my legs, and the contrast of his rough fingertips against my legs making me so very tingly. Finally, his hands invaded the inside of my thighs, and pulled them apart, where the cool air wisped over my warm core.

Some men like to just _beat around the bush_ per se, pun intended. But Murphy decided that he'd be merciful, having already teased me enough, and wasted no time in diving in. My throbbing clitoris was thankful for the contact, and my body immediately jerked in response. I stifled the rising moans by concentrating on a rhythm of heavy breathing, but I couldn't make any promises. My fingers laced in his hair for the second time as his tongue circled around the little bundle of nerves, and then delivered several consecutive deliberate strokes, driving me mad.

I could feel the pressure of his fingertips on my hip as he anchored me down with one hand, and held my leg in place with the other. My breathing grew rapid as a wave of pleasure began to build, a rewarding, euphoric light waiting at the end of the tunnel, which would hopefully provide me with some release.

And – then I fucking woke up.

* * *

I literally whined at the realization, when my alarm clock screamed at me from its spot on my bedside table. It wasn't lack of sleep that bothered me. I could call work, tell them I'm out, and then go back to sleep. That wasn't an issue. It was the fact that that amazing little performance of Murphy's last night wasn't real. Curious, I slipped a finger into my underwear, not at all surprised as it came into contact with the slick flesh underneath. Would definitely be taking care of that, come shower time.

I slapped the top of the alarm clock, grabbed the phone from its side, and dialed work. The line was busy at first, so I was stuck in bed for a moment, forced to relive that amazing, cruel dream of mine. Wouldn't it have been wonderful for that to be real? God, I just wish I'd been able to get his damn pants off.

I left my bedroom with the house phone pressed to my ear. "Yeah, Daphne, could you let HR know that I won't be coming into the office today?"

I made my way to the kitchen, and just as I was rounding the bar, I saw Connor leaving the guest bathroom, a billow of steam following in his wake, his shirt bundled up and thrown over his shoulder, his skin still gleaming from the shower. I averted my eyes, trying not to stare, flush rushing to my cheeks as I huddled up in kitchen next to the coffee maker. "….Yeah, I'm going to be working from home today…" Could she hear the "_I have an attractive half-naked man walking around my apartment"_ in my tone? "No, I'm not sick… Everything's being taken of care of today…"

Connor came up behind me, bee-lining for the coffee maker and I stepped back, still desperately averting my eyes, burying my head into the fridge. "Yeah, I'll just fill you in when I come in tomorrow, but I really need take care of some personal things at home…" Like the half-nude man pouring coffee from my two feet away from me right now? Can he be number one? "I am aware of the deadline moving up four days… No, I don't think it'll affect anything, but thanks for reminding me…" But this man will. _Naked, naked, naked, naked. "_Okay, you too. Bye."

Pressing the button to end the telephone call, my eyes squeezed closed, and I took in a very long, controlled breath. I stared into the orange juice container, lost in my thoughts.

This was a cruel joke of the Universe, sending me such a vivid dream followed by an attractive man just walking around half naked. I tried not to think of the contours of his muscles or his tattoo covered skin.

_Deep breaths, Avery. In and out, in and out._ Woulda been nice if some other things were _in and out._

"Havin' trouble what yer lookin' for in there?"

I supposed I'd been stuck in the fridge for too long. I pulled my head out with the jug of orange juice, turning to the glass cupboard, specifically avoiding eye contact with Connor. "How'd you sleep?" Let's at least try to make conversation, right?

"Yer couch was more comfortable the first night I slept on it." I could hear him sip at his coffee. "I suppose I'll be taking the bed tonight, yeah?"

The picture of Connor in my bed floated before my eyes, and my heart dropped at his words. "What?" I finally mustered up the courage to look at him. His t-shirt was thrown on the counter top.

He nodded toward the back of the apartment. "The guest room, it'll be my turn for it tonight. Murphy'll be takin' the couch." He placed his mug next to his shirt. "Unless you're comfortable sleepin' here alone?"

I know what words I wanted to come out, but the part where they actually come out of my mouth wasn't going very well. "Oh, you can…uhm. You guys can stay another night. If you don't mind. I'm sure you've got things to handle though, back home. Uhm." I tore my eyes away from him. Fuck, sense when did I act like such an idiot in front of a half naked man? Maybe it was the dream, and the sexual frustration. Maybe I'd be better after a shower, where I'd be doing very little showering. "I'm sorry." I was so embarrassed, acting so obviously stupid. "I think I'm just still working on little sleep." _Good excuse, Avery._

I tried my best to keep my eyes on his face as he spoke. "If yer takin' the day off, ye might as well go back to bed."

All of sudden, I wasn't very tired anymore. I doubt it had anything to do with the orange juice. I might as well have stayed up, anyway. I had to call the security company to come install a system, I did have work to get done today, and I was pretty sure I needed to make a grocery trip. I crossed the space of the kitchen one more time, and peered into the contents of the fridge, validating my inkling suspicion. "I guess I should go to the store today and get some non-vegan friendly foods, huh?"

Connor shrugged. "Murph and I aren't picky."

Shutting the door of the fridge, I leaned against the cool surface, folding my arms. "Sure you can handle a vegan cuisine for a day or so?"

He smirked. "I'm not worried about the food."

Without thinking, I cocked a brow. "Was that… Are you flirting?" I was surprised to hear the words come out of my mouth.

He shrugged. "Can ye blame me? Wit' you walkin' around like 'at?"

I looked down at myself. Living alone for so long will engrain certain habits into you. I wore only my thick sweater that I'd gone to bed in, bare down from the mid thighs. My bottom wasn't terribly visible or anything, but my legs were bare. It was decent enough, but as revealing to get a kick out of it. "I guess I should go put some clothes on, huh." It was a bluff.

He picked his coffee back up, muttering into the mug. "Yer house. Ye wear what ye want." Over the rim of the mug, I could see playfulness in his eyes.

My embarrassment had waned, and I could feel warmness rise at the flirtatious interactions. I needed to take care of that. "I'm going to go take a shower," I said grabbing my glass of orange juice. "Later we can run by a grocery store, grab a few things." I deliberately made an obvious glance towards his bare torso. "Maybe we can drop by your place and you can snag a new shirt, since that one…obviously isn't working this morning."

The corners of his lips lifted, he gave a brief nod of understanding.

* * *

Normally, I grocery shopped alone, so it was nice to have some company. It was coming to my attention that Connor prided himself in his gentlemanly habits, such as picking up the heavy things for me, and heaving them into the cart. Then again, that could have been him showing off. He threw two twenty-five pound bags of litter over his shoulder, and stuffed them onto the bottom rack of the shopping cart.

"Do ye need this much?"

I smiled. "I have two cats. Don't you know that all they do is eat and poop?" With that, I pointed to a twenty-five pound bag of cat food. Admittedly, I was challenging him at this point, seeing how far his hubris was willing to go, and he didn't complain as he bent down, grabbing the requested brand, and nestling it in with the two enormous litter bags. "I appreciate you accompanying me." I began strolling down the small, cramped market.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Not like I got anythin' better t'do."

I rounded the corner into the dairy aisle, pulling some soy milk out of one of the refrigerators. "It's nice to have someone though, after what happened at the apartment."

Leaning against the glass, his arms crossed, he cocked a brow in a concerned expression. "Ye think they might follwin' ye or somethin?"

I strolled along, leaning into the buggy, the question bouncing off the walls of my brain. I hadn't really thought about it, considering it had just happened last night. I just knew that I felt better with somebody at my side. The boys were significantly better company than Lauren, who I'd been spending most of my time with. And my best friend was currently out of town, so that wasn't an option.

Finally I answered, "It just makes me feel better."

"Well," he seemed cheerful, "consider me at yer service, then." He picked up the container of soy milk I'd just placed into the buggy, scanning the ingredients on the back. "As long as ye don't feed me any o' that weird vegan stuff ye eat."

I laughed.

"What's that stuff called? Tofurky?"

I shook my head. "Yeah, made from tofu. Which I don't eat."

"Ye don't like it?"

Scrunching up my nose, I pressed my lips into a hard line before answering. "The texture. I hate it."

Embarrassingly enough, as I tried to gather all the packaged goods before venturing into the frozen and produce aisle, I found myself in the joint station for feminine care and sexual protection. I went through the mental list of my bathroom's medicine cabinet, discerning that I was good on all the feminine products, but as my eyes fell on the condoms, I immediately recalled that I was out.

I wasn't even thinking about the twins when I reached down and grabbed several boxes and throwing them into the cart. I'd been thinking about Jack, who would be coming home in a week or so, who undoubtedly want to debrief me on his business-vacation in the Bahamas and proceed with our normal best-friends-with-sexual benefits relationship. (Maybe he could get this horny situation taken care of.)

But I could almost feel the grin creep onto Connor's face, that achingly smug look form on his face. I rolled my eyes, waiting for the inevitable smartass comment in that cute Irish accent.

"Ye not cheatin' on us, are ye Avery?"

I was at an emotional crossroads of aggravated and playful, two typically contradicting emotions, that only the twins could manage to intermingle. But growing up with a dry witted police officer as a father, I was quick to comeback. "Well, if you're mine to be cheating on, you're slacking in a few departments."

I hadn't realized what I'd said until I'd said it, blush running up the back of my neck, but I braved on, trying to seem nonchalant. I knew that it was my subconscious talking, weaseling its words out of my mouth in a moment of mindless comedy.

"Oh, is that so?" He sounded too incredibly pleased with himself, the way he stopped in his tracks as I moved on down the aisle. "I guess we'll have to fix that, now won't we?"

My unintentional blurt had sewed the seed. Might as well commit. "Don't get my hopes up." I smirked playfully, despite his inability to see, from way behind.

"So what are ye intentions, then?" He jogged up behind me.

We were in the freezer section, now. "What are you talking about?"

"Well," he leaned against the glass again, crossing his arms coolly (no pun intended). "We can't have ye goin' and breakin' our hearts now can we?"

The words perked my interest, and I rose up from the crouching position I'd adopted, having been searching for a particular frozen product. I was alert, now. Definitely paying attention. "I'm sorry, did you say _We?" _

"Ye did say that ye were – oh, what was it? Polyamorous?"

"I prefer the term _Open_, but yeah." Is he serious?

"There's no sense in ye choosin' one of us, if ye don't want. And there's no sense in us fightin' over ye if we can both just have ye."

My brows furrowed. "I sound like a shared commodity." The words weren't laced with any negativity, more with a type of curiosity as I tossed a bag of frozen peas into the cart.

"Oh, ye know that's not how I meant it!"

Taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I threw the items designated from my shopping list into the cart, and carried onto the produce section. Finally I said, "I do have a lot of experience with open relationships, but I've only ever had one situation where two people I was dating knew each other." I gave him a serious look over my shoulder. "And they weren't brothers."

"Friends, then? Acquaintances?"

"Best friends. And they thought they'd be okay with it." _Why are organic things _so_ expensive? _"Turns out they weren't," I let out a sigh. "They had a falling out, and from what I understand, don't even speak to each other anymore. I broke up with them afterwards, not wanting to cause any more problems. And you guys…" I stopped, pulling away from the task at hand completely, looking Connor into the eyes. "You're brothers. I don't want to be a reason for you two to like…never talk to each other again or something."

His tone was gentle, but stern at the same time when he responded. "I mean this in the politest way possible, but Murph and I 'ave been through worse, and it won't be a girl that tears us apart."

I turned back into the cart and started pushing. "That's what my exes thought," I muttered almost resentfully. "But you guys have a strong bond. I can tell."

"Aye, he's my little brodder. I love 'em."

I raised a brow. "So you're the older one?"

He shook his head. "Nah, neither one of us really knows. But I'm convinced it's me."

I chuckled, shaking my head. These two crack me up, even when separated.

Since the switch to such a sensual topic, Connor became rather stingy with the personal space, my shoulder pressed against his lower bicep as we stood in line for the checkout."So ye think ye can handle the both of us, huh?" He whispered down to me in a low, husky voice.

Both of them?_ Swoon._ I still wasn't quite sure if I was okay with sleeping with two brothers. Right now, I could barely handle Lauren. Surely she'd think everything was just peachy after I'd come to her rescue. And Jack would be returning soon. Four people? Could I sleep with four people at once? Inwardly, I shook my head. No, somebody's gotta go.

Lauren was kind of nuts, so she was definitely out.

And Jack was great in bed, but we'd been best friends since second grade. We didn't necessarily have to sleep with each other, and it wouldn't be the first time we'd paused our sexual activities to pursue other romantic interests.

Can't forget Jeremy – Oh, no.

I looked down at my watch, realizing that it was eleven o'clock on Tuesday. "Shit."

"What's wrong?"

"I had a date with Jeremy, today." I rolled my eyes at the spoof.

"Ah, see? We're already stealin' away from all yer old catches."

I giggled. "I can see that." I sighed, loading my items onto the belt. "Well, guess that's not happening today."

"By the sound of the guy, ye probably had a better time runnin' errands wit' me than ye woulda on a date wit' him." He bent down, throwing the seventy-five pounds of cat paraphernalia onto the belt. I smirked as his biceps naturally flexed at the motion, the warmth returning to my lower stomach.

"Yep. Probably right."

* * *

I'd never been to the boys' place before. They lived in an Irish neighborhood – no surprise there – and in a relatively beaten up building. It didn't surprise me, I decided, as we stepped onto the dangerously unreliable looking lift. Connor and Murphy weren't the kind of people to get hooked on aesthetics. That was something we didn't have in common; the dingy walls of the elevator greatly contrasted with the plush, ivory décor of my own apartment. I think everyone finds their own comfort in different places. Kudos to Connor and Murphy for finding theirs.

The lock was jammed when Connor tried to unlock it. It took him a minute as I watched his perfected technique manipulate the door knob. The door sprang free, swinging inward, allowing us access, where I was introduced to a true bachelor's pad, if there ever was one.

There were two mattresses on the floor, absent of any typical bedding, with only several old blankets. The toilet was out in the open, completely not separated from the rest of the room. The shower consisted of a couple of shower heads mounted onto an off-white tile wall, and it at least had a shower curtain. I'd much rather shower in front of someone than poop in front of them, though. But, these were guys. I supposed they didn't care about those things.

We'd decided to stop here so that Connor could pick up a few things. He grabbed a few solid coloured t-shirts and a few pairs of underwear. He grabbed one single tooth brush and a six pack of beer that was laying amidst some junk on a cluttered table. He shoved the items into a leftover brown grocery bag on the floor, and we made our way back to the lift, where he stared at me expectantly.

"What?" I said, glancing at my watch, my mind on the taxi. It's meter was running and my groceries were in there.

"Ye not gonna say anythin'?" He wore an amused smile on his face.

Returning the smile, I shook my head. "None of my business."

"It is a bit of a wreck though, isn' it?"

I shrugged. "It's your place. Do your own thing." After a moment of silence between us, while we were stepping off the elevator, I asked, "But do you regularly take girls there?" I wondered what other women's reactions were like to urge him to ask me those questions.

"They never plan to stay around long enough for it to really matter, but for the most part, I normally go to theirs. Guess Murph does too."

"So have you two ever shared a girl before?"

Slowly, a sly smile formed on his lips. "At once or separately?"

I rolled my eyes at his amusement. "Either."

"Once."

"Is that at once or separately."

"Both."

"Same girl?"

"Different." He certainly was being incredibly casual about it, standing across the elevator floor, with that damn look on his face.

When the lift stopped, he forced the gate open, and led the way back to the taxi. The ride back to my apartment was a quiet one, but fairly short. We sat in the back seat, groceries cradled in our laps, staring out our separate windows. I thought about what he said in the elevator, about sharing a woman. What would it be like to be with both Connor and Murphy regularly? Separately or together, either one was almost too heavy for me to consider.

I was incredibly attracted to both of them, but would it be wise to risk their relationship?

"_Murph and I 'ave been through worse, and it won't be a girl that tears us apart."_

That was how he put it, wasn't it? Connor seemed so confident in the grocery store that the two of them would have been able to share a lover, and had even had experience in the ordeal. My two former boyfriends, who are now former best friends, both hadn't had experience in that situation before at all. I had put too much faith in the situation, not that it was anyone's fault. It did, however, turn me off to the idea of being "shared."

Connor and Murphy weren't like any other, though. They were totally unique, different. Their personalities, their lifestyles, and their actions. Two incredibly handsome, religious, Irishmen who spent most of their money on enjoying life, rather than materials, and had a profound respect for women. There isn't another man in the world like that, and I know _two_ of them.

Connor was just looking out of the window, minding his own business. That long coat of his swallowed him, but there was part of me that couldn't forget what was underneath, to thanks to his little indiscretion from this morning.

He must have felt my gaze burn a hole into his chest. "What?" he asked innocently.

I shook my head with a smirk. "Nothing."

* * *

Craig, the concierge of my apartment building, gave us a kind wave as we both passed in the direction of the elevators, arms full of brown grocery bags. I wasn't happy to see eight people already waiting in line, and once it finally came, I insisted that we pass it up.

"Got a bit of claustrophobia, then?" Connor teased.

"In a tiny mechanical moving room filled with seven other people? You could say that."

It wasn't long at all before a second elevator arrived, and as we boarded, I selected my floor, and we both stationed ourselves on opposite walls, just as before. I dropped the brown bags immediately. They were both so heavy, and I was already tired of bothering with them. Connor, on the other hand, didn't seem bothered at all with the twenty-five pound bag of litter slung over his shoulder and his personal items from home in the other arm.

"Getting tired?" I poked, in light of his teasing comment only a few moments earlier.

He sounded so confident, readjusting the litter bag. "Not at all."

We watched the numbers change, as a high pitched ding signified each new floor. I was thinking of what I could possibly make for dinner that the boys would eat. Murphy would be returning home soon, and Connor would leave after that. I knew what foods I normally ate, but I wondered if I would be able to get them to try it.

I noticed that he was staring at me. I had been staring at him in the car, thinking about him shirtless. If he had been as lucky as Murphy, I'd assume he was doing the same thing. I was curious to know what was going on in that mind of his, though. His eyes were sparkling with something mischievous.

"What it is it?"

Glancing up at the floor numbers, he carefully dropped the bag of litter with a gruff smack, followed by his personal belongings. He closed the distance in between us very easily, with those long legs of his, his arm barely grazing mine as he pressed the Stop Button to the elevator.

Confused by his actions, and almost concerned that we might get in trouble, I started to ask what he was doing, what was going on. But with dark eyes, he was staring down at me. I began to wise up, and considered what might be about to happen, but it didn't seem real. It also didn't seem real when he leaned forward, placing both hands against wall, on either side of my head.

He wasn't joking around. There was no smirk, and he hadn't cracked any wise comments. He just stared at me. The room felt so very heavy. My arms were hanging at my sides, useless. I was a little dumbfounded and quite full of anticipation. His face was only inches away from mine, and I could faintly feel his breath escape from his parted lips, and tickle the exposed flesh above the collar of my shirt.

He was making a move. He was getting brave – or cocky – and making a move, but he wasn't being too forward. He wanted to give me an opportunity to deny him, to let it be my choice. This wasn't going to be influenced by any booze to dull our judgment. It would be real this time.

So, I was left with a decision. From this point on, there would probably be no going back. If I did this, I'd officially be involved with Connor, and I was already involved with Murphy. I'd officially be at both of their fingertips, those lovely, charming fingertips. I tried to think, was it worth the risk? They would be okay, wouldn't they? Connor already admitted that it wouldn't be a girl to break their bond. So, there wasn't really even a problem, right?

But logic wasn't dictating this moment, anymore, as much as I tried to consider it. That unquenchable desire resurfaced again, and I was at its feet. My brain wasn't in control anymore. My breath deepened, and my heart began to rush. My mind began to slow, and my body was screaming.

I lifted a hand, and gently fondled the tip of his coat's collar with two fingers. "You're crossing into dangerous territory," I said, in an unintentionally low voice.

He smiled at me, all knowing. "I know."

There was an explosion inside of me, a boiling point reached. The straw broke the camel's back. My last nerve had strained. I was fed up.

Oh, who cares what happens if it all goes to hell.

I took his face into mine, and he immediately dropped his hands from the wall, moving them to my waist, pinning me against the elevator wall. He tasted even better than he had the other night, possibly because I was sober now, but my desire had matured by this point, and this wasn't just a silly little kiss in the kitchen. I needed it.

Our lips moved together, moving in, out, and around each other, with a graze of the tongue here or there. My fingers dropped from his face to around his shoulders, attempting to get as close to him as I could. Our chests were pressed together and our hips were partnered. I wouldn't be able to leave, even if I wanted to, which I didn't.

My brain was turned off. The only thing functional was my senses. The way he tasted, like mint and cigarettes. The way he sounded, releasing heavy breaths, struggling for air in between kisses. The way he felt, the feeling of his hands surfing up my sides to cup my face, his calloused fingertips gently scratching my cheek and his stubble grazing my chin. His scent was unidentifiable, maybe the lingering scent of shaving cream or body soap, but was still so arousing. And the sight of how he pulled away from me, and looked down at me with heavy eyes, through those long eye lashes of his.

I didn't realize how hard I was breathing until I looked down, exhausted from the blood rush. He shifted in his position to press the button on the elevator again, causing a gentle jolt in my stomach as it began again.

So there it was, I'd kissed him, sober, with complete full intentions.

I expected him to return his wall to retrieve his things, but instead, he grabbed my face with one hand, and placed another kiss on my lips, not as long, or as involved as the one we'd just shared, but his tongue ran over by bottom lip, followed by a nip with his teeth. He was teasing me. Either that or he couldn't get enough of me. I was okay with both.

There was a goofy, triumphant smile on my face as we scooped up our items. The short trip from the elevator felt longer than usual as I silently replayed the kiss in my head over and over. I wouldn't mind reenacting it as soon as my cold groceries were put up. How much longer until Murphy returned?

_Oh, God._ Murphy. I was shamefully excited at the prospect of seeing him tonight. I could, without guilt, kiss him, now. Hell, I could sleep with him now. A million thoughts began running through my brain. Who would I sleep with first? It would surely depend on the circumstances. Who would I kiss next? I was going to have all of this alone time with Murphy tonight. Murphy wasn't even there for anything that was said today.

I tried to calm myself down, bracing my knee against my apartment door and balancing a grocery bag on it.

"Ye want some help?" asked Connor with a cocked brow, watching my little stunt here, knowing full well how it would end.

Cocky, having done this many times before, I shrugged it off and attempted to fish my key out of my purse, still holding the second grocery bag in my other arm. "Nah, I'm fine." Putting the key into the slot, I turned it, same as ever, but I wasn't counting on the door already being unlocked, causing the turning motion to open the door, sending my grocery bag tumbling to the ground with a horrifying, dissatisfying sound.

Connor gasped behind me. "Oh, no! The eggs!"

I envisioned my fruits, veggies, and expensive bakery bread to be covered in a disgusting mixture of runny yolk and crunchy shell. I purposely, and very noticeably, stomped my foot with a pout. "Oh, no!" And a Connor giggled behind me profusely, it suddenly dawned on me, his little trick. My brows furrowed as I did the math in my head. "Wait a minute. I'm vegan. I didn't get any eggs."

He almost lost his things, bending over in laughter.

I wanted to be mad at him, but I couldn't. That was too good. "Careful, you'll lose your beer. Then we will have a mess."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note:** Hey, guys! Hope you enjoy the chapter! Feedback is really helpful, by the way! I'm curious for your thoughts. _

* * *

4\. Compromise

I wasn't expecting for Murphy to already be home. "What- How did you get in here?" He was sitting on one of the sofas, a pen and newspaper in his lap. Getting closer, I noticed he was doing today's Crossword puzzle. I peered over his shoulder, glancing at his answers. "You seem more like a Sudoku person to me."

"I picked the lock" he said casually, as if it wasn't supposed to bother me. "And Sudoku is Connor's thing."

"Pick it? Why?" I'm sure Craig would have let him in. He knew the boys were staying with me after the break in.

Murphy gave a shrug, looking up at me. "I wanted to see how easy it was to break in to yer place. Turns out, it was real easy." He tossed the paper onto the glass coffee table. "Did the security people not come by today?"

Connor chuckled behind me, happy with my stage performance for today. My eyes fell closed and my head fell back. I had completely forgotten about calling to get the security system installed. I also hadn't gotten any work done for today, and it was already five o'clock. I hadn't even eaten yet, today, since Connor decided to gallivant around naked during breakfast. And I'm over here dropping groceries all over the place. "I totally forgot," I complained.

Murphy motioned toward the answering machine. "Ye forgot somethin' else, too."

My brows furrowed at the comment. Did Daddy call or something?

"Or should I say _someone?"_

And then it hit me like a sack of bricks. Not only had I forgotten about today's lunch date with Jeremy, but I'd forgotten that I brought it up already at the grocery store. Maybe I shouldn't date Connor and Murphy. They were the reason I was acting like this.

Connor almost broke into another chuckle, but I swung around, pointing a dangerous, accusatory index finger. "Don't you even start!" I was sure he'd be so happy to know that Jeremy slipped my mind twice today, as well as all of my other responsibilities as a functional adult. What _had_ I done today? Shower and grocery shop, that's it. Well, I made out with an incredibly attractive Irishmen in an elevator, but I don't think that counts.

I grabbed my house phone, not even bothering to listen to the answering machine, and dialed Jeremy's number. He was quite understanding about the whole ordeal, which made it all the worse.

"Hey,Jeremy," I began, gathering up the fallen groceries. Connor gave me a hand, I'm sure listening intently as he followed me to the kitchen. "I'm so sorry about today."

"Avery!" He sounded pleased to hear my voice. "It's fine, but is everything okay?"

I threw everything onto the counter, and started putting the cold things away first, to be greeted with a big container of pasta and pesto. The housekeeper made dinner. At least I didn't have that to worry about. "Not really, it's a long story, though." Oh, come on, Avery. Some weirdo broke into your place and one of your side piece's. That's not so hard to explain, is it? Perhaps I should keep away from Jeremy, or he'll get his place broken into, too. I shake my head at the thought, even if it's not worth entertaining.

"It's okay. You can explain it over dinner later this week, if you want."

I put a bundle of spinach in the crisper, and paused at the sound of his words. I closed the fridge, and saw Connor leaning against the counter, who was waiting for me to finish with my phone conversation, undoubtedly waiting to give me trouble. I'd already decided to put an end to things with Lauren, and that was complicated enough. I had my plate full with Connor and Murphy, and if I was going to even attempt to pull this off with the two of them, I needed to be careful. If some jealousy did spark between the two of them, my dating anyone else would only make it worse. I wasn't ruling Jeremy out, but part of this lifestyle is thinking about other people before yourself, and right now, pausing this thing with Jeremy was looking to be in everyone's interest.

I tried to hide the reluctance in my voice. "Jeremy," I dipped out of the kitchen, through the living room, and onto the balcony. "I wish I could say yes."

"Oh, no…" I heard him mutter on the other side of the line.

"But things are crazy right now. Someone broke into my apartment, and I had to take today off to worry about it, so I'm behind on work-" It all came out in a ramble, but he stopped me.

"Avery," his voice was calm. "I understand. Things happen."

I smiled. "Thanks for understanding."

"Just, give me a call sometime, okay? When you get all this sorted out?"

I leaned against the railing of the balcony, staring in through the blinds at Connor and Murphy. They were rough housing, Murphy holding his brother in a headlock. I'd get this intrusion situation sorted out, but what then? I was really beginning to like the boys. I might find myself in a place where I didn't want anyone else besides them for a while. I exhaled, trying to calm my racing thoughts. We would cross that bridge when we came to it. This was all very new, and I'd only known them for a little over a week. I decided to just take it as I go. But for right now, let's not burn the bridge with Jeremy, who's only ever been completely nice and understanding with me. "I will, I promise."

"Okay, talk to you later."

"Later."

I walked into Connor, no longer in a headlock, making kissy faces at his brother. I can only imagine what he was teasing about.

"I sure hope you two are playing nice," I said, announcing my presence, making sure to lock the balcony door behind me and properly close all the blinds.

"Nothing," said Connor, in a tone telling me that it clearly wasn't just nothing.

"Don't ye have work or somethin'?" barked Murphy, trying to take his brother by the shoulders.

"Soon!" Connor dodged the attack.

"Oh, don't go anywhere yet!" I called from inside the kitchen. "I was just about to pull out some food."

It was amazing how quickly Murphy appeared behind me, his voice right next to my ear, taking me by total surprise. "What's for dinner? I'm starved."

I yelped, scowling at the realization it was just him, and pulled out the container of pasta and pesto. "The house keeper comes by on Tuesdays," I said, placing the container on the counter and pulling open the lid, a wave of zesty, pesto goodness washing into my nose. "She makes food for me, because her daughter just became vegan." I pulled a fork out of the drawer at my hips, and stabbing the spirally pasta, I very unattractively shoved a bite into my mouth. "She likes to practice on me." I gave an approving groan. My tongue and my empty stomach were both very happy.

Murphy picked up a singular noodle in between in his fingers, and held it up to the light, as if to inspect it for some deadly component. "Why's it green?"

"It's pesto," I informed, stabbing another bite onto my utensil, and holding it up to his face. "Try it. It's good. The green freaks a lot of people out at first, but it's delicious."

There was uncertainty over his face, as his gaze switched from me and the noodle, but finally, full of obvious reluctance, he took it into his mouth. The entire thought process was expressed on his face, from uncertainty, to "Oh, this isn't so bad," to, "Wow, this is pretty good!"

"Certainly not bad," he said before swallowing. "Do you eat it cold?"

I shrugged, grabbing a serving spoon and stuffing it into the noodles. "Depends on your preferences. I always eat it room temperature or cold after being leftover. I've never had it warm." I pointed to the cabinet at his eyelevel and began for the dining table outside the kitchen area. "Grab three bowls for me."

"Yes ma'am," he responded at the command.

I stopped in my path. "You know, I don't like being called _lass,_ but you can call me ma'am all you want."

With a signature McManus smirk, he gave a single nod. "_Yes ma'am."_

I placed the food on the table as Murphy emerged with dishes and cutlery. "Do you think your brother will eat this?"

He followed me back into the kitchen as I rummaged through the brown bags for the bread I'd thought I'd destroyed and grabbed a knife. "He's never been one to turn down a meal."

Stepping outside of the kitchen for a final time, I didn't even see Connor. "Good, where is he anyway?"His brother shrugged. "Connor!" I yelled into the depths of the high ceiling apartment. "Get out here and put this in your face."

"Alright, alright." Connor emerged from the guest room with a six pack of beer and a clean shirt.

"See you've finally found a shirt you can stand to wear," I muttered it more to myself than to him, but he caught it anyway.

"Ye sure are bossy, aren't ye?"

Murphy raised a brow. "What's goin' on between ye two?"

Just as before, Connor made a kissy face at his brother. I rolled my eyes. "Connor, sit down."

"Yer right, Connor," said Murphy. "She is quite bossy, isn't she?"

Connor took a seat down next to his brother, both of them sitting across from me, now. "She sure is."

They're such goof balls. They also had no idea what they were getting themselves into. "Don't encourage me," I shot back. "I was born to be a dominatrix. Now do me a favor," I pointed to the bread and knife, "slice that up for me?" I ignored them as I began to portion out the pasta.

"Dominatrix?" Gushed Murphy.

"Fits her." Connor began slicing at the bread.

I've always been a relatively bossy person. I take pride in things being a certain way, and sometimes, I feel like my way is the best. I never mean any harm when I order people around, and I never mean anything personal by it or think that I'm better than anyone. People respond to things differently, so sometimes it causes issue, sometimes it doesn't. The boys didn't seem to care about my little bossy moments. I knew that if I got out of line, they would put me in my place.

Having realized I didn't set anything down for myself to drink, I made myself an ice water in the kitchen. "Do you boys want anything?"

"Beer," they both said, in unison, with their mouths full of food.

I pulled out two beers from the six pack on the counter. "Let me know what beer your blood type is," I said dryly, "so that I'll know what to bring with me to the hospital in case either one of you ever needs a blood transfusion."

Murphy wasn't kidding when he said that Connor wouldn't turn down a meal. Both of them were going to town on the pasta, and I just sat back and reveled in our first dinner together, the sentimental sap that I secretly am. What was I going to do with these two? I was forgetting my responsibilities, and unintentionally blowing off other suitors? And on top of that, I'd already decided to pause any other potential relationships until I knew where the three of us all stood with each other.

It was as if they knew what I was thinking, staring down at my bowl, mindlessly shifting around the same three pieces of food.

"How'd th'talk with tha' Jeremy fellow go?" inquired Connor, pulling me from the deep reaches of my thoughts.

"Okay, I guess. He took it pretty well." My tone was flat.

"D'ye reschedule?"

I shook my head. "Kind of dumped him."

Both of the boys' faces dropped. There was a _clink_ as Murphy dropped his fork. "Now why'd ye go and do a thing like tha'?"

I think he already knew the answer to that question, but he wanted to hear it from me. And it wasn't a simple answer. The same thoughts that had been racing just came out in a ramble. "I have so much going on, like figuring out what to do with Lauren, getting the security system installed, this asshole breaking into my house, the fact that I'm behind on work, and," I took in a deep breath after the blurt, letting it out slowly, "figuring out you guys."

"Figuring us out?" said Connor with a mouth full of food.

"I think what me brudder is tryin' to say," tried Murphy, a bit more eloquently, "is 'at there really ain't much to figure out. We jus' like ye is all. We want to get to know ye a little better, and spend some time wit' ye."

Connor swallowed his food and took a big gulp of beer. "Maybe do some other things, too."

They were sweet. Hopefully this would go way more smoothly than I thought. "There's still Lauren, though." I detested the sully in my own tone.

"Thought ye ended things with her?"

"Yeah, but then we came to her rescue last night. I don't want her misconstruing anything."

"What of Jeremy then?"

"He handled it pretty well, the dump thing."

Murphy threw back the rest of his beer and said cutely, "Anyone else we need to know about?"

Jack's face came to mind. He and I had been involved in an on and off friends-with-benefits relationship for a long time. We'd known each other ever since we were kids, and for all intents and purposes, he was my best friend. I didn't foresee any issues with pausing our sexual relationship, since we'd done it many times before. I can't tell you how many girlfriends were _the one._

"One more, but I can handle it."

"So tha' would be three then?" counted Connor aloud. "How do ye keep up with all of 'em?"

I laughed. "They're people, Connor. Not pairs of shoes." There was a meow from behind me. Libby and Kirk prowled around their food bowls, rubbing the tips of their tails along the walls and bottom of the bar stools. I grabbed the empty bowls from the table, threw them in the sink, and went to pour some food for the kitties. As they proceeded with their typical act of starvation as I struggled with the bag, I asked, "So what about you two?"

Murphy stood, grabbing the empty beer bottles from the table. "What about us?"

"Are you two going to freak out at the aspect of sharing a woman or something?" I tried to sound as casual as possible.

The boys shot a knowing stare at one another.

Finally managing to get the bag of cat food open, I stood, and leaned against the bar, crossing my arms. "It's just, I want to know if you two are going to be able to do this. I need to know what you are and aren't comfortable with. In situations like this, there's a requirement for way more communication than in typical relationships."

Murphy took a seat in one of the bar stools. "What wouldn't we be comfortable with?"

I took a moment to find an appropriate example. "Okay, other guys."

"What about 'em?" Connor kicked his legs up on my dining table, leaning back in the chair. Was he going to be late for work or something?

"I'm pausing my other relationships so that I can...pay the proper attention to this unique situation. Not that those relationships were really even serious. I've known Jeremy for a month now, and we've only gone on two dates, and Lauren was honestly just a one night stand gone too far."

"Proper attention?" Murphy leaned in.

"I've never slept with brothers before. I was just telling Connor earlier today about my dating two best friends, and they don't even _speak_ anymore."

Connor, with preexisting knowledge of the story, shook his head. "That couldn't have been your fault though."

My face fell. Disappointment flooded the pit of my stomach. "I could have done better, though." I'd known they were jealous. I'd picked up on the signals. I wasn't dumb or oblivious. I'd just decided that it wasn't my problem. They both knew what they were getting themselves into, right? A nasty breakup later and the fragments of a once great companionship suggested otherwise. "Don't get me wrong." Connor's words from earlier today echoed in my head. "I, in no way, think I would ever possess any capability of tearing you two apart."

"Then what's there to worry about?" Murphy asked in a comforting tone.

"Well, I guess taking it slow is more for my sake than for yours. Better safe than sorry, you know?"

"Ye want to give us all yer attention." Connor stood. "I don' see anythin' wrong with that."

I laughed, shaking my head, and receded into the kitchen. "Go to work."

* * *

I'd managed to salvage the last few hours of my day. The groceries were put up, a load of laundry was started, and I finally sat down to do some work. On the floor of my living room, I had stacks and stacks of papers strewn out over my coffee table. The white, shag carpet was soft on my toes and the laptop warmed my thighs. Each piece of paper was a letter, each with an inquiry on some type of relationship issue. I'm over here struggling with my relationship life, and I get paid to help people with theirs. Maybe if I fail with Murphy and Connor I should resign and be an editor or something.

When I'd first started off as my magazine's relationship advice columnist, I was answering twenty or so questions an issue, and they were relatively short answers, ranging from a paragraph. I was blessed enough to receive a very good response from the readers, and my Editor decided that I needed to a little bit more "in depth" with my readers. "_We need to give them a little bit more of you, they just don't seem to get enough."_ That was just fancy wording for giving me more work.

My answering seventy-five questions a week, only for twenty to be pulled weren't enough. Now, I was answering fifty questions, giving short answers, and providing a full essay to one of the more in depth, juicier dilemmas. My Editor called it the _"In the Chair,_" article.

Normally, our deadlines are Friday. This week, the deadline was moved up to Thursday, for whatever Godforsaken, unjustifiable reason. I'd only answered fifteen questions this week, and I hadn't even _found_ my focus for next issue's _In the Chair_ piece.

Murphy resurfaced for the first time in over an hour. I'd imagine the first thing anyone would want to do after working 8 hours at a meat packing plant is take a long, hot shower. The water was configured into the rent. No skin off my back.

"Want a drink?" he asked, making his way towards me. At least he had the decency to wear some damn clothes after a shower, unlike his brother.

I shook my head at the brown beer bottle in his hand. "No thanks. Don't drink beer." I turned my attention back to my laptop and he placed a clear glass of liquid on the table. "What's that?" I asked, peering over the thick rims of my distasteful reading glasses.

"Vodka and sprite."

"Ooh." It was almost shameful how quickly I perked up, setting the laptop aside, and picking the glass up from the table to take a sip.

Murphy took a seat next to me on the floor. "It looks like ye needed it." He gestured toward the paper. And then a grin began to slowly form over his lips, his eyes heavy on my glasses. He didn't say a word, but took a swig of his beer.

I held up a finger, in warning. "Don't even make fun of me. These are my back up's. My nice glasses broke."

I knew he would burst if he didn't say anything. "D'ye steal those from yer granny, then?"

"As a matter of fact," I spat, "_I did_, from her house after she died. These mean a lot to me."

His face fell, unable to look at me. "Wow," he said earnestly. "I'm sorry."

I was totally lying. My grandmother is living in Florida, married to her seventh husband, who's approximately thirteen years younger than her. I got these glasses from a woman named Margery who works in the cubicle next to mine at work. These were her back up's, and she gave them to me when I sat on my nice pair. I'd tell Murphy later, let him just sit on that tale for a bit.

He leaned forward and grabbed one of the letters, quick to change the subject. "What are these?"

I grimaced as I took bigger sip of my drink, getting mostly vodka. Jesus, Murphy sure does like to make his drinks strong. "Are you trying to get me drunk or something?"

He chuckled.

"You do know that it's vodka _and_ sprite, right? Not just vodka?"

"Vodka never really does it fer me. I end up needin' way too much."

I shrugged. "I'm partial to rum, but I genuinely enjoy the taste, so I end up drinking too much."

"Christ, we need to get ye some rum, then."

I shook my head, and took the paper from him. "These…" I motioned towards my 1,492 letters, (Okay, maybe not that much, but there were a good deal.) "…are all questions for work."

"Relationship questions?"

"Yep."

"Well, then!" He snatched the paper back from me. "Let's take a look, then?" His eyes darted over the piece of paper, and in his Irish accent, he adopted a comedic, over dramatized feminine voice and read, "_I no longer feel the spark between me and my husband, but I see that he's ready to propose. Should I break things off, or just marry and hope for things to work out?"_ And in his normal Murphy voice, he looked at me with extra serious furrowed brows, "Verdict?"

I scoffed. "No brainer. Dump the guy and move on. No sense in paying for a wedding and leading him on if she doesn't love him anymore."

He returned my scoff. "How heartless!"

"How so? Why waste any time?"

"Well, if he still has feelin's for her, then maybe there's a way they can rekindle things. Spark things back up?"

"Oh, so you're an advice columnist, now?" I couldn't hide the amusement.

"I'm a man. I'm just givin' ye the other side o' things."

I reached over the table, and grabbed another letter and handed it to him. "Try this."

He cleared his throat, and read in his girly voice, "_How do I tell my husband I was once a man?"_

His eyes widened, and he placed the paper down on the ground, as if he held it any longer it would grow teeth and bite him.

"You got any advice from the man's perspective on that one, Smarty?"

His eyes narrowed, and he gave me a side glance. "Yer all woman, aren't ye? Not tryin' to tell me anythin' right?" He received a firm slap on the arm, and I reached for another letter.

"This one."

"_How do I get him to return the favor down town_ _every once in a while?"_

He paused, staring at the paper.

"Well?" I urged.

He shrugged, and said in total nonchalance. "Just ask."

"Just ask?" That's it? No perverted comments or long, self-gratifying speech on the joys of going down on a woman? (Murphy seemed like the type of guy who enjoyed doing some eating out every once in a while.)

"Just ask. We don't know if ye don't ask us."

He had a good point, one that I stressed to my readers really often, and one I even brought up earlier during dinner. One of the most valuable commodities in any relationship is communication. Playing games and dropping hints to letting others know what you want will never get the job done as efficiently as just flat out saying what you want or need out of the situation. Granted, being completely blunt may not be the best course, and you might have to dress the cupcake up a little, but it's way better than hint dropping.

Pleased with the feedback, I leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "I just might keep you, Sir, if you plan on being so helpful all the time." Taking off my glasses, I stood and made way for the kitchen. I needed to dilute that vodka down with a little more Sprite.

Returning from the kitchen with the container of soda, I unscrewed the cap, and added the necessary amount. I sat my glass on the end table, next to Murphy's head, and as I pulled back my hand, his fingers wrapped around my wrist. His face was gentle, but his eyes were hiding an agenda.

I stood over him, my wrist in his palm. He was sitting down on the floor, his back resting against the front of the couch. He tugged at my wrist, motioning me to come down at his level. I came to my knees, and threw a leg over his lap, straddling him.

"I have work to do," I said as he uncrossed his ankles.

He placed his hands on my waist, almost scooting me forward, our contact becoming more intimate, my breasts pressed against his chest. The only thing between him and me right now was clothes. "I know."

Was that, "_I know and I'll let you get back to work soon?"_ or was that _"I know, and I don't think either one of us cares."_

I was too preoccupied with being this close to him. His hands snaked up my sides, cupping my face, tilting my face downwards so that our foreheads touched. His lips were parted, and I could feel his warm breath on my skin, causing my flesh to rise in chill bumps. I drew my bottom lip in between my teeth, releasing it as he angled my face, however he wanted me, and took my lips into his.

It was like an immediate release. After today, after I'd freed myself of the burden to worry about the boys, I'd finally let myself really enjoy them. I wasn't secretly admiring their attractive features from afar, anymore, like the uncool kid watching the awesome party from across the street. I wasn't watching the party go on, anymore; I was a part of it, now.

All of the sexual desperation I'd been feeling for the past few days were channeled into the kiss, my hands grabbing a fist full of his hair, or clinging onto the muscle of his shoulder. His warm, wet tongue ran across my bottom lip, and I could have died right then, as the tension in my stomach tightened. Our breaths became heavy and our bodies moved back in fort as if we were almost fighting, trying to push each other down onto the floor.

And then my laptop dinged. In a fever of lust and haze, I managed to break my lips away from Murphy for only a moment to look at the laptop. Murphy only took it as an opportunity to ravage my neck, nibbling in the right places, and licking in others, the scruff of his jaw scratching at the skin.

I'd received another e-mail. This brought a driving halt to the current fun at hand. I had to be completely honest with myself. If I had sex with Murphy, which I'm sure is what this was leading to, I wouldn't get any work done. We'd have sex, fall in bed, and pass out. I couldn't risk the passing out part, but I couldn't call that shot if we had sex. So, I had to be a responsible adult and make an executive decision.

I rejoined the kiss, reveling in the taste and smell of him. He was a different kisser than Connor. Connor was very forceful and primal. There was a mind game to him, such as how he wanted me to initiate the kiss in the elevator, baiting me. How after restarting the elevator, he came back just for a little more, and the bite he laid on my lips. He pins you where he wants you, and then he takes what he wants, flooding your body with pleasure and draining you of all thought.

Murphy wasn't necessarily more gentle, but he was more deliberate. Each move was meant for a specific purpose, to reach a certain end. Kissing me to arouse me, touching me to egg it on, and the nibbles to push me over the edge. His kisses were slower, but almost deeper, making you revel in your arousal, almost teasing, making you want just a little more, but not enough to satiate you. One brother was primal, one brother was calculating.

"I really need to work," I tried as he licked the front of my throat, followed by a gentle sucking gesture.

"Can't it wait?" There was plea in his tone as his hands pulled my face back down, where our lips tangled again. For a second, I was lost in the kiss again, on a boat floating down river with no oars to combat against the rampaging tides.

Could it wait? Haven't I waited long enough? Haven't I needed this long enough? But I knew that the next day, I'd wake up with that sexual desire quelled, but I'd be struggling for the next two days to catch up. I can't do five days work in two days, I just couldn't, and if I turn in low quality work, or I'd be working all weekend, doing it over. There was really only one thing to do, and that was to compromise.

Murphy was confused when I stood up, staring up at me as if I'd betrayed him, leaving him stranded on the side of the road. "Stand up," I whispered.

As he stood, I sat back down, but this time on the edge of the couch. There was a sparkle in his eyes and the corners of his lips turned upwards as he got an idea of what was going on. I hooked both index fingers into two separate belt loops of his jeans and urged him forward. He was stationed directly in front of me now, and I was eye level with his buckle. He towered over me, peering down at me. I was sure anticipation was racing through his veins.

His palm reached out, caressing the side of my cheek, his thumb running over my bottom lip. I wrapped my fingers over the back of his hand, steadying it, and grazed my teeth over the print of this thumb. His eyes fell closed at the sensation, and I took the opportunity to surprise him, wrapping my lips around the base of his thumb, running my tongue over it. He gave a moan.

Pleased with myself, I let go of his hand, and moved onto his belt. It clinked as it fell to the ground, and I took my time with his zipper. His eyes were still closed. I felt a tingling sensation in between my legs as I watched him lick his lips. Finally with the fly open. I gauged his reaction as I pulled at the waist of his jeans. His brows furrowed in the heat of his sensual torture, and he pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth.

He gasped and his eyes opened as I took his member into my hand, holding it firmly. Staring down at me, he patiently waited for me to proceed, but I took a moment for our eyes to connect. His Adam's apple bobbed as he gave a good, hard swallow. And then, I closed my own eyes, and took him into my mouth.

He was hard, harder than I'd seen a man in a long time. I wondered if he'd been as miserable as I'd been for the past few days. There had been a small dab of liquid protruding from the tip of his penis that was no done away with as my tongue flicked over it. At first, I took only the head of him into my mouth, running my tongue over the small little indention in the center, underneath.

Murphy's head was thrown back, groaning in pleasure. I slid my tongue along the long length of him, all the way up the shaft, and took the head back into my mouth, this time taking the rest of his length. I was careful to fully distribute saliva for lubrication, so as to make this easier on me and maximally pleasurable for him. Once that was done, there was really nothing holding me back.

There was a hum in the back of Murphy's throat, as the soft moans came out in almost consecutively. As I established a rhythm, his hips instinctively beginning to sway back and forth, his fingers gently tangled into my hair. His thrusts were slow and controlled, so as to communicate how he needed each stroke, and the tips of his fingers massaged my scalp as they played in my hair.

Him still in my mouth, I readjusted on the couch, straightening up, and placed one hand on his hip. The other hand, I placed towards the base of the shaft, and attempted to compensate for the lack of contact. His fingers squeezed in my locks as I established a new rhythm, this time with my right hand stroking the base, and my mouth tending to the top, sucking hard on the head of his cock, and even running the tip of my tongue along that ridge.

Picking up the pace a little bit, I was straying from the teasing. I wanted to make him come. His hips moved a little more forcefully, his cock flowing in and out of my mouth, but he wasn't hurting me. I removed my hand, and tried to take as much of his length into my mouth as I could. My jaw was beginning to hurt, and in a few minutes I would have to tap out, but I was determined. This moment in time, his orgasm was way more important than receiving one myself. As horny as I'd been the last few days, I never thought I'd get this much relief from giving the orgasm to somebody else.

There was no back of the throat groan this time. This time, when his fists left my hair, I suppose in fear of hurting me, his chest heaved as the wave of orgasm began to hit him, and a low, guttural moan erupted from his chest. My mouth was filled with thick, warm semen, and I sucked hard on his member, milking his orgasm, wanting to make him writhe in that post orgasmic sensitivity.

Once his breathing steadied, I swallowed the pool of liquid in my mouth, and wiped the moisture from my lips. Leaning back into the couch, I grabbed my drink from the end table as a beaming Murphy tucked himself back into his pants. I swished the vodka-sprite combination in my mouth, and decided this would be a terrible alternative for mouth rinse, but it was better than nothing.

Murphy plopped onto the couch beside me as I sipped at my drink. "Jesus woman," he panted. "I'm going to have to bother ye during work more often."

"Gladly," I mused, placing the drink on the table and cuddling into his side, throwing my legs over his lap. "I do have to get back to work soon."

He kissed the bend in my neck, and nibbled on the edge of my jaw. "Well," he said, pulling back, "we're jus' going t'have to take a page from one of yer readers." He grinned. "And I'll have to return the favor later."


	5. Chapter 5

**IMPORTANT** **Author's Note:** _Those of you who regularly keep up with Once More, With Feeling will notice that this chapter changes tenses. OMWF will no longer be written in past tense. It'll be written in present tense, but it's way easier for me to read and edit, so it should help me get chapters uploaded more. Also, this chapter DOES contain massive amounts of sexual content. Just skip through the page breaks if you're not into it. _

* * *

5\. Lunch

Murphy leaves me alone to work where I'm able to not only answer fifteen more questions, but I'm able to at least pinpoint my focus for the _In the Chair_ article. I don't bother starting on the piece tonight, because it's already approaching bed time, and I have to be in the office by eight-thirty, which means I'll have to leave around seven-thirty. Knowing that I'm going to be rising early, I pack my papers up, shoving them all into a binder, and putting said binder into a designated work bag.

Murphy is at the table, working on that puzzle from earlier. At first, he doesn't notice me start my nighttime routine, putting away dishes, turning off lights, and eventually, I disappear into my bathroom for a shower.

I'm a nighttime showerer, and I always have been. I can't stand the idea of crawling into bed dirty, but as the water washes over my body, I kind of wish someone would jump in here and join me.

I step out of the shower, wrap my body in a towel, and proceed to blow dry my hair. I continue with the normal before-bed rituals, such as moisturizing this, plucking that, and putting cream under the eyes. I emerge from the bathroom, the mist of heat and humidity following me, and Murphy is standing in the doorway of my bedroom. He isn't technically in my bedroom, but barely a few centimeters away from it. His arms are crossed, and he's wearing a smirk. Maybe he had the same thoughts as I did while I was in the shower.

After spending fifteen minutes blow drying my hair, my body is pretty much dry now. I can slip into a pair of undies and pajamas immediately, but Murphy has something else in mind. I stand near the entrance of the bathroom, waiting for him to stalk towards me, like a wild cat in nature readying to pounce on its pray.

I'm expecting him to make some wise crack comment, maybe about wanting to join me in the shower or how long I take, as a girl, in the bathroom, but he doesn't. He just walks towards me slowly, and soon, we're inches apart from each other. I wonder what it's been like for him to sit across the apartment, waiting for me to finish what I was doing, exiled from my body or the pleasures he'd originally tried to initiate earlier before I tapped out. I can only imagine how much better this sex will be, now that he's waited. And I have pretty much already decided that sex is exactly what's about to happen.

I'm eager. I've been waiting to have my brains fucked out by one of these boys for days. I'm just glad one of them is home now that I've pretty much accepted that I'm allowed to have both of them. My skin is so hypersensitive, he isn't even touching me yet and I've already got chill bumps covering the entirety of my body.

I run my hands up the surface of his navy blue, long sleeved shirt, and hook my fingers around the collar, urging him to lean down to compensate for this height difference we've got. He cranes his neck and allows me to take his lips into mine. The kiss is at first gentle, and slow. I'm trying to take my time, not rush or ruin things. I want to revel in this, but my need gets the better of me.

When his tongue rolls over mine, I release an involuntary moan, and then all bets are off. His still, peaceful demeanor he had is gone, and he wraps his arms around me, and plunges his tongue into my mouth. Our breaths are heavy, and our hands grab desperately at one another. My fingers tangle in his hair, my arms wrapped around his shoulders. One of his hands holds my face in place, as he ravages it as he pleases, and his other hand sneaks down and grabs a firm hold of naked ass underneath my towel.

The way his palm cups the cheek, a finger is only inches away from my heated core and another moan escapes my mouth at the very thought of it. This moan destroys what little bit of self control he is holding onto, and his hand drops from my face to the top of my towel, near my breasts. He pulls back and our eyes are locked. With the smallest gesture, he causes the towel to fall to the ground, pooling around my ankles.

His eyes wash over my fully naked body, taking it in for the first time, and I cheer inwardly as he gives an approving, aroused moan, and cups one of my breasts. His mouth fall to my neck, kissing, sucking, licking from right beneath my ear, all the way to the center of my collar bone. Before I realize it, he's pushing me backwards, and the backs of my thighs meet the mattress.

Our bodies are entangled, his form fully clothed and mine completely bare, and the mattress is conforming to the shape of this twist of lust and limbs. His tongue cascades over the curvature of my breasts, and nibbles at the sensitive flesh. The contact with is tongue on my bear flesh is causing my head to rush, and I'm almost quite dizzy. I feel like I'm on a sinking ship, and I'm hanging on the edge, waiting for the water to swoop up and guzzle me down.

In desperation, I start pawing at him, trying to pry off that shirt of his. He understands why I'm trying to do and pulls the fabric over his head, tossing it to the ground. He kneels in between my legs, and lays over me, balancing his weight on his forearms. His kisses are hungry and demanding, and I can't believe this is about to happen.

My legs wrap around his jean clad legs, moaning at the sensation of denim unintentionally brushing against my hot, wet core. My arms slip in between our chests and hips, and I struggle with his buckle. He chuckles into my mouth at my eagerness, leans up slightly, and grabs both of my wrists, pinning them above my head.

"Oh, hello," I joke at the new dominance peaking from beneath that sweet, thoughtful Murphy exterior.

He's turned on, and amused, which I can tell by the hard on underneath his jeans and the smile on his face. With one hand, he keeps mine in place, not that I'm going to struggle. The other cups my breasts, massaging at the tender muscles, causing me to sigh. After a moment of that, he trails down the center of my torso, with a feather light touch, and my mind blanks as I realize the destination.

My eyes fall closed, and inevitably, I feel his calloused finger come into contact with my aching, throbbing clitoris. The pain is immediately relieved as he begins to play with it, moving his fingers around in circular motions, and then adds a finger for a secondary sensation. For a few seconds, he circles the clitoris, and then his finger dips down towards my opening, where he's pleased to find I'm extremely wet.

He gives a satisfied moan into my ear, dropping his head onto my shoulders as he slides in a finger. Realizing how wet I am, he slides in a second, which has me clawing at his bare shoulders. His mouth falls onto mine, muffling my moan, and he establishes a beautiful, exceedingly pleasurable rhythm. I can already feel an orgasm swell in me, but I hope that it's not so soon. I half way want to pull away, to hold it off, but I don't have that kind of will power.

I'm flooded with gratefulness that this man is actually in my bed doing these things to me, and I pray it's not a dream. If it's a good dream, at least I'm getting to experience some of the good parts. And I decide that if it is a dream, immediately upon waking up, I'm finding one of these boys and fucking their brains out.

But I'm pretty sure it's not a dream, especially when his rhythm quickens and he begins sliding his fingers deeper and deeper inside of me. And sadly, he pulls them out, wiping them on the bed spread that I could not give two fucks about right now. I give an audible whine at the loss of contact, and begin fumbling for his belt again.

He gives a second chuckle at my eagerness, and swats my hands away. He grabs hold of them a second time and repositions them next to my head.

"Keep yer hands there, lass," he speaks for the first time during the encounter. I don't even care that he just called me _lass._ He can call me whatever the fuck he wants right now as long as his cock is involved.

He's standing at the edge of the bed, and he grabs the under of my knees and pulls me toward him. In this position, he could easily take his pants off and fuck me right here, but I'm surprised when I see him kneel. I lift my head to see that his mouth is perfectly aligned with me, and it immediately falls back onto the mattress as he glances at me over the expanse of my naked body.

My legs instinctively try to shut as he swipes his tongue over the slick flesh, but he's holding my thighs in place with a death grip. My back arches at the sensation and I honestly think that I might die right now.

He's done with the preliminary teasing, licking in between the folds and darting his warm tongue into my opening, and he firmly begins working at my clitoris. And earlier, on the couch, when I decided that Murphy is the kind of guy who likes to _eat out,_ I apparently was right on the money. He didn't nonsensically flick with his tongue or suck random pieces of flesh like some men do, which I hope I'll never have to suffer through.

His tongue deliberately laps at my clit, slow, hard gestures that are so fulfilling yet torturing at the same time. I also don't notice my ragged breathing and desperate moans until now. I'm honestly silently begging him at this point to pull away, because I do not want to orgasm yet. If I have an orgasm, after these past few days, it will be one incredibly strong, disabling orgasm, and there _won't_ be a second round.

He hears my thoughts after another moment of beautiful torture, and he lifts up, now wiping his mouth on the bread spread I still don't give a shit about. I sit up to make a third attempt at his belt, but his lips collide into mine unexpectantly, but I go with it, happy to oblige. His mouth his hungry, and as he finally lets me lay claim to his buckle, I quickly graze over his trapped member, to gauge how hard he is, and I'm pleased to find out just how hard he is.

The buckle releases and the fly comes undone. His face cups my jaw as his mouth invades mine, and I do my damndest to pull his jeans down. His member springs free with a delightful bounce. When I take it into my hand, his lips fall from mine and he buries his face into my neck. He gives me a moment to stroke it, and at the tip, I can already feel a small droplet of liquid escape.

In almost an aggravated force, he scoops his arms underneath my body, and just about throws me into the center of the bed. He spreads my knees, adjusts himself between them, and our eyes lock as he enters me for the first time, and hopefully, not the last. God, it fills me to the hilt. His length is perfect and his girth is almost unbearably pleasing.

He leans over me, supporting his own weight. He mistakes the expression on my face for pain, when really I don't think I can handle this. I hope he isn't planning on being gentle with me. His breath is warm on my face. "Ye okay, lass?"

Still don't even care about the _lass_ thing. I slide my arms along the surface of his back, and cup at his firm bum, trying to physically urge him to continue. Too stupid at this moment in time to explain to him that there is no pain, I do manage, "Keep going," in a desperate plea.

And that's all he needs. He thrusts into me so hard that my body rocks with his, and he doesn't stop there. His rhythm is immediately established, wasting no time at all. One hand on his butt, the other clawing into his shoulder, I cling to him for dear life. With each penetration, a moan escapes from the back of my throat, and Murphy feels the need to milk this by licking along the path from my collar bone to my chin.

Desperate to maximize this physical contact between us, my hands take hold of his jaw, and I cradle his neck appropriately so that I can take his earlobe in between my teeth, and licking the tender flesh underneath. I trail my teeth from his ear to the front of his neck, similarly to how he'd done to me, and as I suck on his Adam's apple, he hammers himself into me mercilessly.

And then that kind, sweet Murphy exterior is cracked once again, and he grabs my hands one by one, and pins them on either side of my head. He pins me down, kisses my mouth, and changes his rhythm just slightly, and now my clitoris is getting maximum contact.

His tongue slides along my bottom lip as he listens to my moans, deciding by trial and error should he go faster or deeper, or both. My moans beg for much deeper, and slightly faster, and he certainly delivers. My opening swallows him entirely as he buries himself inside me over and over. He leaves one of my wrists unattended, the sneaky bastard slipping it in between us, finding my clit with total ease, and running the tip of his finger around it.

I mutter a few curse words into the thick air, and a few pleas for him to please, please, _please_ continue, and then the dam breaks. He lets go of my other wrist, and allows me to wrap myself around his body as I'm knocked over by a tidal wave of pleasure, and sink into the deepest depths of orgasm.

He doesn't last much longer, groaning my name into my ear. "_Fuck, Avery," _And just last minute, he pulls out, his throbbing cock shooting out the same familiar, salty liquid from earlier. It partially runs over my core, but most of it slides onto the bed spread, which still I don't give a single fuck about.

I try to oblige, taking it into my hand, stroking it with a firm grip. He gasps into my shoulder. He leans up for a minute, to survey the damage that he's done. He's on his knees, on top of the bed, and is taken by surprise as I take his still relatively hard penis into my mouth, running my tongue along his shaft, sucking hard for any residual cum. His entire body trembles at the sensation, weak from the post-orgasmic sensitivity.

He gently wraps his fingers in my hair, tilting my face upwards, and takes my lips into his once more, stroking a single finger along my jaw line.

* * *

I distinctly remember falling asleep at Murphy's side. We got comfortable and fell asleep in a tangled mess. But I wake up to my digital clock shining blinding red numbers into the dark bedroom. It's three o'clock in the morning. I have three hours until I have to wake up, but I roll over to see that Murphy isn't in bed with me. There are voices coming from outside the bedroom.

In a sleepy daze, I crawl out of bed and standing in the bedroom door, I see Connor and Murphy conversing at the bar.

"D'we wake ye?" asks Connor in a concerned voice. He stands up and makes his way over to me, Murphy at his feet. I can see that Connor has had a shower, because he's shirtless and his hair is still wet. Murphy, on the other hand, is fully dressed, when he really should be naked, in my opinion.

I shake my head with a yawn. "No, it's okay. I just wake up sometimes." There's a chirp and a furry warmth at my feet. It's Libby. "Come here, Meow Meow." I bend over and hoist up the inexcusably fat calico, and cuddle her in my arms.

"Let's get ye to bed," says Connor, and he urges my deliriously sleepy form back into the bedroom.

Libby takes her place at the very edge of the bed, as the little spoon, per usual. I plop down at her side, and surprisingly, Connor is the one who crawls in bed with me. I'm guessing they're taking shifts as my bed mate, now. As I begin to drift back asleep, I hear the front door open and close. My eyes fall shut, and when they open again, there's a blaring siren in my ear. I wake up with a shock.

Oh, it's just the damn alarm clock. I hit the snooze button with really no intentions of going back to sleep. Instead, I turn over and see Connor. I remember that he crawled into bed with me last night. He's on his back, his left arm jammed underneath the top of my pillow, his right arm folded onto his chest. And, beneath his stomach, on his groin, is Libby, the little traitor. At his feet is Kirk. Both of my cats are fawning all over him, curled up into perfectly circular furry balls, emitting terribly loud purrs of total content.

My clock says six-fifteen in the morning. I have about an hour and forty-five minutes to get ready and be out of the door. I don't have a shower to worry about, but I have makeup and hair to worry about, and an outfit to assemble. I fix a quick breakfast, put a note on the counter for Connor to feed the kitties and keep an ear out for the security system technicians, which I'll be setting an appointment for at work.

Right before walking out the door for work, my work bag in hand, I peek inside the bedroom one last time. Both cats are in the exact same position, and Connor hasn't moved an inch either. What time was it last night when he got in? It was three when he came to bed with me, if I remember correctly, and he was already showered. He must have gotten in around two in the morning. He would definitely be sleeping in, so I'm careful to not make any noise when I leave the front door of the apartment.

* * *

The first thing I do when I get to work is call the security company Daddy recommended. I really shouldn't have put it off another day, but at least Connor has an eye on the house. Even though he's most definitely asleep right now, but I doubt anyone would try anything with him there. (Hopefully.)

Apparently Daphne, at work, can't keep her mouth shut, because everyone is asking me what personal things happened that warranted me taking a personal day off from work. It sort of defeats the purpose of it being called a personal day. However, I don't want anyone to know what happened. I don't really want a lot of people at work to know much about my personal life, at all, really. That's a good way to start in-office friction.

Margery greets me with her usual smile, sticking her head from over the walls of our conjoined cubicles. "Were you sick, Dear?" she inquires sweetly, with her cute little wave, where she twiddles her fingers. Margery is between forty and forty five. She's been married to the same man for twenty-five years, and all of her children are grown. When her youngest started high school, Margery went back to school for journalism and when said youngest started college, Margery started working here at the magazine. And she is, by far, my favorite person here.

"I wasn't sick, just had things to sort out." I return her polite smile, and sit down.

"Oh, as long as you're alright!" She's bubbly and talkative, but she knows not to pry.

Daphne walks by, and attempts her gossip, but I just turn on my computer and shut her down at every go, eventually managing to get rid of her so that I can work. And work flies by relatively quickly. I answer a few more letters, leaving me with only ten letters left to fill my quota, and I even get a good start on the _In the Chair _piece.

Margery wheels her chair from her cubicle into mine. "Avery, you're vegan aren't you?" she asks, mispronouncing _vegan_ as _vej-uhn._

I smile, and don't bother to correct her. "Yeah, Marg. What about it?"

"I'm working on a recipe for a low cholesterol cupcake. What's a good substitute for egg?"

"You can use egg white, for lower cholesterol, but for a vegan recipe try apple sauce." My phone rings. Picking up the phone, I add quickly to Margery, "Remind me and I'll write the portions down for you later." Margery wheels back into her little corner, and I hold the phone to my ear.

It's Daphne. "Avery?"

"Yeah?"

"There's a woman here to see you. Says she's here for your lunch?"

My eyes shoot up to the large analog clock on the office wall. Twelve-fifteen. It's already lunch? And did she say a woman? "Who is it?" I ask.

There's a pause at the other end of the line. "She says her name is Lauren. Were you not expecting her? Do you want me to turn her away?"

I shake my head, as if she can see it over the phone. Lauren's here. For lunch? Why? All I can think of is after breaking things off with her and then coming to her rescue after the break in, it just mixed up signals. Even though I don't want to see her, I know that it won't do any good to turn her away. I was hoping to grab some Chinese from down the street, but I suppose I'll figure something else out. I need to talk to her. This needs to stop.

"Hello?"

I'm yanked back into reality. "Yeah, tell her to wait next to the north elevator, ok?"

During the entire elevator ride down, I'm running through all the possible scenarios of this conversation. I'm wondering what it is that I should say, and what it is I shouldn't say. What combination or series of words will make this situation go by as smoothly and quickly as possible, without blowing up in my face?

I'm not able to come up with a good enough game plan in the time it takes for me to walk to the elevator and reach the bottom floor, where Lauren stands near the north elevators as instructed, in the back of the lobby.

She's facing away from me, holding something in her hand. I halfway consider just going right back up to the office and phoning Daphne, tell her that I got called into some important meeting or something. But before I can come up with a good enough excuse to even give her for when I get back up stairs, before my feet can even move, Lauren is turning around, and her eyes are on me.

"Hey!" She calls, throwing an arm around me. "You trying to sneak up on me?"

I want to joke back, but I want her to know that something's wrong with her just showing up here, but I also don't think being a jerk from the get-go is going to get anything done. This is such a stupidly over complicated situation. I try to think of what I would tell someone in my exact situation. If I were at McGinty's, sipping on liquor and soda, and they described to me the exact same situation that I'm in, what would I say? If I got a letter describing this, what would I write back?

So I decide to be honest, but go easy on her.

She holds up a white, paper bag. It's take out. "I brought us some lunch," she says. "_Surprise!"_

I sigh. It smells like fried rice and tempura-fried vegetables, my favorite. She got Chinese. Make it hard on me, why don't you. I almost feel guilty as I lead her to the cafeteria, because I know what I'm about to initiate this very unfortunate conversation. Lauren is just going on, completely unsuspecting, talking about how she made sure my plate was absolutely untouched by animal products.

"They fried it in a new batch and everything," she explains, choosing a table at random. "So your vegetables weren't fried in the same oil the meat was." She pulls out a plate and opens it, and adds, "Oh! They even made sure there was no egg in your fried rice, too. They were really accommodating."

Jeez, Lauren. Twist the knife. I'm beginning to second guess even doing this. But then I remember the other night, when I was sulky at the bar, the night I tried to take Murphy home. The reason I'd come to the bar in the first place was because of my terrible day, and Lauren had started the terrible to that day. Absentmindedly, my fingers dip underneath my white, faugh-silk blouse and feel the jagged cut from the vase.

Lauren is already digging into her food, but my plate is untouched, still inside the bottom of the takeout bag. She looks at me expectantly. "You going to eat?"

I nervously lace my fingers together in my lap. I've broken up with a lot of people. If someone had asked me how many people I've dated, I would have to sit down and really think about it, and I would withhold the right to change that number later, in the case there was someone I forgot. Sometimes I was being broken up with, and in others, I was doing the breaking. But Lauren was different than any other person I'd gone out with. She was so hot and cold, and so needy. And even if we got passed the reasons why I don't want to date her, she still had become violent with me.

Okay, the nervousness is subsiding. I stare at her.

"What?" she asks over a mouthful of rice.

"Laur…"Choose your words carefully, Avery. "Lauren, you do realize that you threw a vase at me, right?"

She drops her plastic fork and gives a disdainful sigh. "Yeah, I know. I wanted to apologize for that."

I shake my head. "You drew blood, Lauren." My voice is calm, and my words are slow. "You don't just throw someone's property." I pull the collar of my blouse down, exposing the gash. "And you _hurt_ me_._"

She leans back in her chair, her eyes wide, taken by surprise. "Shit… I did that?"

Slowly, I nod my head. "Do you remember what started the argument?"

Her gaze falls, settling on the table.

"Someone else that I was seeing left a message on my answering machine, and you didn't like that we weren't exclusive, which we'd never talked about previously. I assumed it was just a casual fling between the two of us. I get that I'm one of your first experiences with women, and I'm glad that could be a part of that with you. But that doesn't mean that we were meant to be in a relationship, which I'm not looking for right now." It sounded cliché, but it was the truth. I wasn't looking for a serious anything right now.

"Do you hear yourself?" she snaps. Her tone, up until this point, had been relatively gentle. But these words, they come out venomously.

My brows furrow in confusion at the sudden mood change. "I'm sorry?"

"Do you hear yourself?" she repeats, narrowing her eyes. "You sound like a _player_, and an incredibly stuck up one at that."

I'm dumbfounded. _Stuck up? Player? _What? I don't know what to say. I'm honestly surprised by how suddenly she changed tunes. "I wasn't trying to play you. I just thought we were on the same page-"

"We slept together. And it was just supposed to be one night, I get that!" She slams the Styrofoam container closed, causing a dent on the lid, and shoves it aside, leaning on the table. "But _you_ came up to_ me_ at the bar."

I sigh. She is right. I can see how that mixes signals. I shake my head. "It's not that I didn't want to see you again, Lauren. I did, otherwise I wouldn't have approached you. But I'm-"

"_Open."_ One seemingly harmless word has never sounded so dirty before. We might as well be talking about kicking old ladies or torturing puppies. "I know, you told me."

I lean back in the chair, arms crossed. I am getting a bit frustrated. "You don't understand what it means, do you?"

She scoffs, as if it's the easiest concept in the world. "You date as many people as you want."

Wrong, but I'm not interested in explaining my entire lifestyle right now. "Honestly, Lauren." I stand. Heat is rising up my body. I'm officially finished with this conversation. "It doesn't matter if you understand or not. When you threw the vase, you crossed a line. I was there for you when your place was broken into, but that's all it was. When I ended things that morning, I meant it." I grab my purse and loop it over my body. "It's done."

Her face falls, and she tries to say something, but nothing comes out. I don't give her the opportunity to try again. I turn on my heels and make my way out of the cafeteria. When I get back to the magazine's floor, Daphne waves me down from the front desk on the way to my cubicle.

"A gentleman is on the phone for you. I patched him through to your personal phone."

"Who is it?"

"Craig, from your apartment. He says it's important." Daphne's tone is incredibly casual, but the combination of Craig and importance scares me, because it makes me think that something's happened.

I thank Daphne rather abruptly and race back to my desk. The light on my desk's phone is blinking a steadily, but in my worry it feels like it's screaming at me. With a racing heartbeat, I pick up the line, and expect Craig to spew at me in panic, but he sounds fine.

"Oh, hello Ms. Avery. I'm glad I caught you before your lunch break."

"Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine. The security company is here to install your home security system, but they insist the owner must be here to sign off."

"The guy on the phone told me someone just had to be present."

"Well, your…" he pauses, "house guest…is standing here at the front desk with one of the security technicians insisting that you _must_ be present."

Oh great, another personal day. "Tell the security guys I'll be there in an hour."

* * *

When I got up to my apartment, the security system was already installed. They told me to pick a number, showed me how to arm and disarm, how the basics of the system worked, and then handed me a pen and clipboard. They left five minutes after I stepped off the elevator.

"Is that all?" I say to Connor from the doorway.

Sitting on my couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, he holds up his beer. "Tha's all."

"What a waste of a personal day," I pout.

"Yer tellin' me. I had to wake up fer that shit." He throws back the last bit of his beer.

I cross my arms from the foyer, contemplating. Finally I say, "I could take a nap."

I might as well have just walked in the door with another case of beer. He smiles. "Well, let's go, then."

I don't think either one of us is really concerned with sex at the moment. In jeans, no shirt, he crawls underneath my white, down comforter. I take off my blouse, and shimmy out of my pencil skirt. The heels were thrown off as soon as I stepped onto the elevator coming up. From my dresser, I grab an oversized t-shirt, throw it on, and Connor watches in wonder as I pull my bra out through the sleeve.

"I always wondered how girls did tha'."

I wave my hands around the bundled up bra in my hands. "_Magic_…"

When I crawl into bed, he opens his arms up to me, and I conform to his body wonderfully. He lies on his side, and I face him, his arms enveloping me. His chest is warm on my face, and I'm snuggly locked in when he situates his chin on the top of my head.

"How can you sleep in jeans?"

"How come all of yer furniture is white?"

I lean up, and look at the contents of my room, and what little bit of the living room I can see from here, as if this is the first time I've ever seen where I live. "I guess there is a lot of white, huh?"

"Ye never noticed b'fore?"

I try to shrug, but it doesn't really get the point across from this position. "I guess. But yer comfortable in jeans?"

"Awh, ye jus' want me naked."

I giggle. "No, I just like wearing as little clothing as possible, if I can. I'm all about comfort."

"Well, t'be completely honest, I'm the same. I jus' thought it would've been a little too ferward to crawl into bed wit ye stark naked and such. Wouldn't want to scare ye off or nuttin'."

"I don't see how guys can not wear underwear." I'm speaking into his chest, so I have no reading of his facial expression. I'm only receiving his words, tone of voice, and body language. Next to his chest like this, all of his words rumble into my ears.

"Well, it's same wit girls and their bras. The first thing girls do when they get home is take it off."

A groan escapes my lips. "They're _evil."_

I'm not sure how much time passes with us like this. Every once in a while I change positions. I lay on his chest or turn around, and his arm wraps around me. I'm not sure if he's actually sleeping or not. I'm not as sleepy as I thought I was, but I'm enjoying the physical contact. It's comforting. It's also nice not to feel obligated to have sex with someone just because you're both half naked and in close proximity. Most guys I date are like that.

"_Oh, her pants are off. She must want to have sex!"_

No, I just hate pants. Get off.

The brief consideration of my dating life makes me think of Lauren. Oh, God, Lauren. Connor's arm is wrapped around my torso, and I run the tips of my fingers along the back of his hand, wondering if he's out or not.

"Hm?" he moans in a half-lulled state.

"Just wondering if you were actually dozing."

"Not really. Just comfortable."

"On a scale of one to ten?"

"Eight and a half, maybe."

I wiggle playfully. "Glad to be of service."

His hand pulls back from my stomach and ceases my wiggling by firmly holding down my hip. "Will be requirin' some other services if ye don't quit that there wigglin', ma'am. Now, what's on yer mind."

"Lauren came to my work today for lunch." The words come out like a sad message written in icing on a cake from the bakery. "_Sorry, you're leaving." "You're fired." "Your comedy is terrible." _

"Oh? What was tha' like?"

I twist my body to lie on my back. He props himself up on his elbow, cradling the side of his face in his palm, staring down at me. "It was like nothing ever happened, like she forgot she threw that damn vase at me." He doesn't say anything. He just lets me vent. "She just shows up with Chinese, my favorite at that, and just carries on like nothing ever happened. Doesn't bring up the break in, or the fight or anything. I had to." It sounds like I'm rambling, and I wonder if I'm even making any sense.

"Well, first off, it sounds like she was suckin' up to ye. Butterin' ye up, because she knew she done wrong. Second, what _is_ yer favorite Chinese dish? For future reference in case Murph or I need to butter ye up for somethin?"

I chuckle. "Fried tempera vegetables and fried rice. Vegan, of course."

"I'll be keepin' tha' in mind."

I shake my head at his train of thought.

"So what did ye do?"

"What?"

"What'd ye do? Ye have lunch with her, or…?"

"I broke things off!"

"Again?"

"Yes, again. But very clearly. And then Craig called, so I went home."

"So ye haven't had lunch yet?"

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I shake my head.

"Well, this is where I'd offer to make ye eggs. Eggs are really the only thing I can make pretty well."

I roll on my side and kiss just underneath his chin. "That's sweet. It's the thought that counts." My head falls back onto the pillow. The corner of Connor's lip is tilted upward, the origin of one of those MacManus smirks. But all he does is lean down, apparently unsatisfied with his peck, and kiss my lips. It's significantly more than a peck on the lips, but there's no sexual ulterior motive behind it. He's kissing me just to kiss me, just because he wants to. I'm okay with that. I like kissing him.

Even though I didn't see him grab any shaving cream or razor (which his scruffiness confirms), he still smells like it. I can taste the beer and cigarettes on his breath, and coming from either one of the twins, it doesn't bother me. I'll take them however I can get them.

He moves onto his elbows, hovering over me, and I'm sandwiched between him and the bed. His tongue darts into my mouth and I wonder if this is slowly becoming sexual, but I can't tell if he's hard yet from my positioning underneath him and his wearing jeans. But the kiss deepens, and it's beginning to feel like cuddle time is over.

His hands don't wander beneath my waist, and his mouth stays from the neck and up. He's sucking on a small bit of skin right underneath my jaw line, causing my toes to curl, and nails to dig into his arm when the phone rings. I let it ring. His tongue runs over the dip in my collar bone. Phone is still ringing. He pulls my earlobe into his teeth. Still ringing. I pull his lips to mine again, and this time when his tongue invades, I catch it, lightly sucking on it. There's a growl in the back of his throat, and then the answering machine picks up.

"_Hey, Avy! It's Jack! Sorry I missed-"_

I bolt up immediately at the all too familiar sound of Jack's voice, and very gracefully fall out of bed and stumble to the phone in the living room. "Sorry, this is important!" I call over my shoulder. I almost think I caught the phone too late. "Hello?"

"Ave?"

"Jack?"

"Ave!"

I can see in my peripheral, Connor sit up in bed, listening. "I haven't heard from you in like two weeks! How's the trip?"

"Oh, it's going great. I've closed four accounts, and I actually think I might get two more than we thought."

With the phone, I wander back into the bedroom, burrowing back underneath the down comforter. "You're still coming home next week, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm getting in Sunday morning. I'll need time to recover from the jetlag. I can meet you at that bar you like?"

My entire body is covered with the blanket, including my head. As far as Connor sees, I'm just a talking faugh-feather blob. "McGinty's?"

"Yeah, that's it!"

"Just call me when you land to tell me what time you want to meet there, and we can see each other."

"Sounds good to me. How have you been fairing without me this last month?"

_Oh, my apartment was broken into, I physically assaulted two members of the mob, started sleeping with two incredibly attractive and partially troublesome Irishmen, and broke a heart today! Everything's great! How's _your_ personal life?_ "Fine." Liar.

"Everything okay, Avery?" Jack knows probably everything about me. I'm very emotionally independent, but he always tries and tries to crawl inside the fortress of fortitude that is Avery. He's the closest anyone's ever got. _So far._ But he knows when I'm lying, and he can hear if something is wrong. It's like he knows what's going on behind my walls without even seeing.

"I'll just tell you when you get home." I do _not_ have the energy to express this over the phone, right now.

"I'll call you Sunday, okay?"

"Roger."

He laughs, and hangs up. "Bye, Avery."

"Bye, Jack." Feeling like I almost suffocated under there, I push back the blankets with a huff, tossing the phone onto the bedside table.

Connor's looking down at me, cradling his head in his hand again, resting on his elbow, looking amused. "Ye always take yer phone calls in bed like tha'?"

"I'm a princess, what can I say?"

"Yer definitely high maintenance."

I scoff, almost offended, but too entertained to be really. "I _am not!"_

He chuckles. "Ye so are!" He holds up a hand and begins counting off. "Ye got a house keeper, who comes by weekly. Ye have essentially a bouncer who turns away anyone who wants to come into yer building."

"He's a concierge, Connor. That's his job."

He ignores me. "Ye don't eat any animal products."

"That's a dietary decision based off _principle,_ not luxury."

Still ignores me. "I can see me own reflection in yer stainless steel fridge, and I used her master bathroom this mornin'. Ye got jets inside yer tub in there? Now is that really necessary?"

"No, but it feels_ extremely nice, _though."

There's that MacManus smirk, full fledge and fully flaunted. "Ye'll have to show me some time."

I narrow my eyes. "You're flirting."

"I am."

"It's working."

We resume our former position, and as he kisses me, I enjoy having his weight over me. The mood of harmless kissing and gentleness is dissipating, and I'm beginning to feel the sexual tension rise in the room, and also harden behind some denim currently brushing against my leg.

He's brave, slipping his hand underneath the comforter, aiming for in between my legs, caressing over the fabric of my underwear. I respond with a moan, which he muffles with his mouth. It's a pleasing sensation, but it just isn't enough. But the contrast between him rubbing me over my underwear and when he decides to dive underneath is _immaculate_. It's impressive how much pleasure rises inside me from just a finger fondling the tiniest bundle of nerves.

I release a second unintentional moan into his mouth, this time louder, and he groans in response, moving his mouth to the side of my neck. Near my ear he whispers huskily, "Ye've got no idea how badly I've been wanting to do this."

My eyes are closed, and my neck is arched to allow him access, where he trails a combination of licks and kisses. He's not much of a nibbler like his brother. And he certainly is delivering. He's moving his fingers just right, manipulating my clitoris exactly the way he wants, and I can already feel an orgasm begin to form. He's enjoying my responses. Every time I moan, he hardens the kiss, dipping his tongue into my mouth, running it over my lips or the edge of my jaw. My left hand is holding onto his working right arm, and I'm trying my best not to dig my nails into his skin. My right hand is about to go for his jeans, when we hear the front door.

"Aye!" he calls. "Put yer clothes on! I'm comin' in!"

When the door opens, the alarm system starts its preliminary beeping which gives an allotted amount of time to input the pass code before an array of alarms sound and pisses off all your neighbors.

I jump up from bed, for the second time breaking physical contact with Connor, who is obviously furious.

"Fer fuck sake's, Murph!" he yells from the bedroom. He certainly isn't shy to express his feelings. "This is like the third time ye've cock blocked me, man!"

"Jesus, I'm sorry! How was I supposed to know!"

Meanwhile, I'm jogging, half naked, to the keypad. I'm not sure how long the beeping goes for until the alarm sounds, and I don't want to find out from experience. I'd much rather get it from the manual.

"Can't ye like knock or somethin?"

"I told ye I was comin in, didn't I?"

I'm sure we're out of sexy mode, because they're just bickering back and forth at each other, now. Murphy and I are both in the foyer, a package underneath Murph's arm. Connor stands in the doorway (still relatively hard, by the way).

"Ye need to fuckin' stop."

"Well, it's not like I'm doin' it on purpose!"

"I'm going to start doin' it to ye, back. See how ye like it, then!"

"I told ye, Con. It's not on purpose."

"I'll show ye what's on purpose-"Connor is about to lunge at Murphy, and I'm sure I'm about to see the equivalent of two five year olds wrestling over who gets to play with the action figure first, but they both stop immediately at the sound of my voice.

"Murph?"

"Yeah?"

Trying to hide my smile behind my hands, I point at the white bag underneath his arm. "What's in the bag?"

"Oh, I got us some Chinese."

"Ye remember she doesn't eat meat, right?" Snaps Connor. He's cute when he's annoyed. Their emotional spans are so childlike.

Murphy doesn't bat an eye, casually holding up the bag and saying, "Oh, I got her vegetable tempura and fried rice." He looks at me. "No egg in the rice, by the way."

Connor's expression fell. "Yer kidding me."

I can't contain my laughter. I'm sure Connor had had plans to surprise me with Chinese, which is sweet and all, but I stifle my laughter long enough to ask, "Murph, how'd you know that was my favorite?"

"Oh, ye talk in yer sleep."

Connor rolls his eyes as my laughter bounces off the tall walls of the apartment. "O'course she does."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** _This is a shorter chapter, but the next chapter will be significantly longer, so I'm trying to even everything out. _

6\. Stand Off

McGinty's is doing well for a Sunday. Apparently the boozers don't stop, even for a work night. Connor and Murphy are sitting in a booth, beers already in front of them, half consumed. They're sitting with Rocco and off-duty waitress, Abbey. Rocco is raging about something, profusely throwing _fuck_ all over the place. Abbey's staring at Rocco as if he's some sort of unsolvable puzzle, and the twins are hackling away at his antics.

Abbey sees me first, giving me a cheerful wave, beckoning for me to come join them. When the twins see who Abbey's waving to, their demeanors change and they both rise from the booth. I smile at the unnecessary chivalry when they meet me for the few final steps to the table, both taking turns kissing my cheek.

"Hey guys."

"Thought ye weren't gonna come to yer own friend's welcomin' back," Murph teases as he takes his seat back on the bench.

I sit in between them, Connor sitting on my other side, who says to Rocco, "Ye remember Avery, right Roc?"

"How could I fuckin' forget her?" He beams, holding his beer up to me in greeting.

"Rocco," I nod curtly, and turn to Abbey. "You finally get a night off but just can't stay away, huh?"

She shrugs in response, almost nervously. I wonder why a girl like Abbey is sitting with the twins and a guy like Rocco on her night off. She's lovely and cute as a button. Her cheek bones are high, but rosy. Her hair falls over her shoulders in enviable, loose, golden waves. Her eyes are brown, like chocolate. It's not that I don't think she can't handle the group of guys, because she does work here, after all. And it's not that I think Rocco and the twins aren't likeable. I'm the first to admit how likeable they are, but they don't seem like her crowd. I can see the relief wash over her, though. After a few minutes of my being here, her body language seems to become more and more relaxed.

The boys' glasses are all empty. Connor rises, and asks me before heading to the bar for refills, "Can I get ye anythin'?"

"I'm good right now." It is Sunday night after all. I want to be worth something for work, tomorrow.

He seems almost a little disappointed that he can't bring me something. I think the boys just missed me is all. I haven't seen them since Wednesday. Hell, I haven't even been able to sleep with Connor yet. He and Murphy have been scheduled double shifts at work all week. I wonder if Connor feels left out, and for a minute, I almost become worried. But I know I'm just being paranoid, and he isn't that kind of person. Nothing really bothers the twins.

I excuse myself to follow him through the maze of crowded tables. He doesn't know I'm even doing this until he sees me at the bar. He catches me in the corner of his eye, and gives a pleased smile, throwing an arm over my shoulder. In response, I wrap my arm around his waist. I like the public affection, it's nice. It feels like a piece of normalcy in this new situation I'm in, dating both twins. When I've dated other people before, I never saw them both literally, at the same time. So this really is new for me. And I'm not used to new, at least when it comes to dating, because I've done it _all._

"Ye alright?" he asks me. He's looking at me like I'm the only person in the room.

"Are you?"

His brows furrow. "Why's tha'?"

"Well, you know. Just haven't seen you since Wednesday, is all. I don't want you to…" I choose the next few words carefully. "…feel left out, or anything."

Our drinks arrive, and he kisses my temple. "Everythin's alright."

We go back to the table, and conversation is relatively light hearted. The boys and Rocco go about their usual bullshitting. I throw in a few snarky comments here and there. Abbey is still eyeing Rocco, and it's beginning to look like a puppy following a laser pointer: not knowing what's going on, but it's fun, so why not?

"So what do you do, Avery?" she asks me from across the table.

"Oh, I'm a relationship advice columnist."

"Tha's right!" announces Murph proudly. "People from all over write our little Avery, wantin' her advice on what they should do to their husbands."

"I bet you get a lot of perverted shit, though," Rocco says into his glass.

"I bet you give good advice," Abbey says, ignoring Roc. "You could probably have any guy in this bar you wanted."

The boys both cock a brow, and I have the inkling suspicion that she knows what might be going on in between the three of us, that maybe she's trying to feel the boys' reactions out for validation. I don't mind, and I also don't mind hearing her words. I mean, _I _know what she says is true, but it's nice hearing things like that out loud every once in a while.

"Don't encourage me," I say, beginning to wish I had a drink of my own to sip at. "I'm the resident narcissist, didn't you know?" It's my biggest flaw, or my greatest quality. I haven't decided yet.

The boys aren't even bothered, now. They're just laughing at me. I'm glad they're amused rather than upset. But it doesn't matter anymore, because I hear a familiar voice, and when I look up, I see a familiar face.

There he is, Jack. He's light skinned, his hair is dark, and he looks like a typical business man, identical to the rest of them, but he's just not wearing a suit. In all honesty, he looks like a fish out of water. He's used to going to those posh bars, and ordering things with top shelf liquor. Not my scene, and this isn't his. But he came to see me, which is why I love him.

He spots me at my table, and I'm so full of excitement to see him that I can't even properly communicate for Connor to move. My flats and leggings are proving to be a good wardrobe choice for tonight, as I jump over Connor's lap, shaking the table as I brace against it and the back of the bench, and run for Jack.

"Avey!" he exclaims, holding his arms out as I hit his body like a water crashing on rocks.

"What's up!" I'm lifted off of my feet a little, and he does this annoying, half-spin, but he puts me back on my feet, unexpectedly kissing my cheek. I ignore it, grabbing his shoulders and holding him at arm's length to look at him. "Are you…tanned?"

"Four and a half weeks in the islands will do that to you." He flashes his expensive, pearly whites at me.

It's kind of weird when we sit back down at the table. Because when I see Jack, he's a reflection of my old life, a representation of the kind of person I used to be. He feels like a foreigner with a temporary passport in my world. We grew up in the upper east side of New York. My mother was an art collector, my father a policeman.

When my father was offered a chief's position outside of Boston, Jack and I both went to college in Massachusetts. After college, though, he went off to be a big, fancy business man and I started writing at the magazine. Our worlds are really different, but I like it that way. He loves it. I always ask him why he doesn't go work at Wall Street, and leave me in the dust to live my happy, working class lifestyle.

I reclaim my spot in between the boys, and Jack sits across from me. "Jack, this is Connor, Murphy, Abbey, and Rocco."

The charismatic twins, cigarettes hanging out of each of their mouths, take his businessman hand with a firm bro-shake, slap in the palm, and a good hard jerk.

"Nice to meet ye," Connor mutters over his cigarette.

"Heard a lot about ye," says Murphy.

"Yeah," adds Rocco. "You're a real ass." There's a quarter of a second where no one says anything, where Jack's eyes widen, and even it takes me a second to realize Rocco's just fucking around. Everyone at the table breaks out into laughter: Jack's being a little more awkward than the boys'. Rocco slaps him on the back of the shoulders. "I'm just fuckin' with ya, man." He holds out his hand. "Good to meet ya."

I see he feels out of place, but if I know he'll be fine. Jack is fearless, always has been. He once told me, "_If you want to be a part of the club, and are afraid to apply – become the president_."

"Let us buy ye a drink!" Offers Murphy.

"Nah, next round's on me." Jack likes to throw money around. He stands up, to head to the bar, and looks at me before departure. "Can I get you anything."

"A sprite?"

"What vodka?"

"None."

"Awh!" The table erupts into a roar, a combination of Rocco and the twins' disapproval.

"Ye got to!"

"Come on, lass!" (Ugh.)

"Look! Unlike you bums, I've got work tomorrow."

"Fine, be lame if you want." Jack throws up his hands, and walks away. When he returns to the table, it's with two whiskey and cokes and a sprite. Those two whiskey and cokes are for him, apparently.

"You know you could have gotten a tall glass?"

He places my glass in front of me. "Nah, I don't think they give you the same amount of whiskey."

"Ah, a man who approaches his belligerence appropriately." Connor puts his cigarette butt out in the tray. "I like it."

"The only way to do it," Jack replies after a sip. "By the way, as soon as those glasses are empty, we're all getting a new round. On me."

I roll my eyes. Don't try too hard, there Jack. You'll tear something.

"Aye, I like this guy."

"Don't mess with these boys about their booze. They can take a lot."

Rocco scoffs. "Ain't that the truth."

Jack points at my soda. "Unlike you, over there, with your responsible drink and shit."

My jaw drops. "Excuse me sir! But I could drink you under the table any day of the week!" I've done it many times before.

The boys aren't expecting my response, both rearing back, smirking.

"Fine! I'll go get a bottle right now. I'll put you to that!" Honestly, Jack probably just wants me drunk. And I know everyone at this table would love to see me drink until I puke my face off, just to see how far I can go. They want me to accept the challenge.

But I shake my head. "Got work tomorrow, can't."

"You just said any day of the week!"

"He's right lass, ye did say it."

Abbey even pipes in. "A week is a week, Avery."

"Okay, okay. Every day that doesn't follow with work."

Jack flashes his teeth he laughs so hard. "Avery that's two days out of the week. You just won this argument _for me_."

"Oh, my gosh! Fine. Next day I have off, I'll drink you _blind,_ sir. _Blind._"

"It won't work."

"Will, too!"

Connor leans behind me to yell at Murphy over the bar's volume, "I'd like to see this!"

"Yeah," Murph chugs the rest of his beer. "Avery's real funny when she's drunk."

I know the words that are coming out of Jack's mouth before he even says them. "Oh, you haven't seen Avery drunk."

"Now, we've seen her in abou' nine or ten shots in." Yeah, like the first time we drank together. Good going, there, Avery.

He throws his head back in an incredulous laugh. "That's cute." Then he lowers his voice, as if he's about to tell some dirty secret, like where his dad keeps the porn mags. "You haven't seen Avery drunk until she's dancing on tables, or making out with girls in a dark corner, somewhere."

The boys are eating this up.

"You do know that I'm still here, right? Try talking to me, not _about_ me. Or I can just go outside, if that'll make it easier."

The few of us at the table are getting along rather nicely. Time goes by, and I realize that I'm going to have to be getting home soon. In the morning, we have a meeting to discuss the new theme of the next issue, which means I need to actually get to work on time.

Jack excuses himself from the conversation to take a phone call outside, with that business cell phone of his he carries around all the time. Rocco and Abbey are deeply preoccupied with one another (and it almost looks like flirting). I take the opportunity to lean to direct my attention to the twins.

"What are your work schedules like this week?"

"We're off fer the next two days," says Connor as he throws his arm over me.

I lift a brow. "Oh, really?" This is good news.

"Yeah, maybe we'll be able to make up fer not bein' able to see ye the last few days," adds Murphy. "Sorry 'bout that, by the way."

"Oh, it's okay. I'm actually going to have to go home soon. Important things are happening at work tomorrow."

"Aye," Connor stands to let me out. "What could be more important than us?"

"Uh, paying rent?"

Murphy shrugs. "Fair enough."

I kiss Murphy on the cheek goodbye, but when I turn to do the same to Connor, he sneaks a kiss on the lips, and rears back. "I'll help ye hail a cab." There's that signature MacManus smirk.

Hail it? Sure.

When we both step outside, Jack is just finishing up with his phone call, and he looks unhappy at the sight of me with my purse and coat. "You're not leaving already are you?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry."

We exchange a friendly hug, Connor hovering a few feet behind us with a lit cigarette. He pulls back and says, "Do you want to go for a run tomorrow, maybe? I've been on planes and in hard chairs all day."

"Sure, after work, maybe?"

"Just call me when you're done. I've got the next three days off to recuperate."

Typical. "You get three days off to recuperate from your trip to the islands?"

He shoots me a charming smile. "Perks of handling people's money."

* * *

Of course Connor had no intentions of simply hailing me a cab. Instead, he hailed the cab, climbed into the back seat with me, and proceeded to go home with me. We're inside the lobby of my apartment building, passing Craig, when I ask, "You're sure Murphy isn't going to worry?"

"He'll figure it out, with you gone, me gone. It's simple math, when ye think 'bout it."

The lobby, besides Craig, is empty, and pleasingly enough, so is the elevator when we step on. I wait patiently as the big, silver doors close, staring forward, but Connor, who's staring down at me with a mischievous expression has other things on his mind. As soon as the doors come together, one of his hands are on my waist, the other on my face, and he's pushing me against the elevator wall, which is cool on my back.

I wonder if there are any security cameras in the elevators of my building, because I've made out _a lot_ in these, this even being the second time Connor and I have been in here.

The elevator ride is short, and the front door to my apartment opens with ease. My cats are meowing for my attention as Connor and I stumble through the foyer and into the entrance of my bedroom, where Connor slams the door. I'm not particularly fond of the idea of my cats watching me have sex, but I know that Connor is trying to shut out any further cock block attempts from Murphy.

As soon as our privacy is guaranteed, my back is pressed against the bedroom wall, similarly to how he'd positioned me in the elevator. His lips are eager over mine, dominating my entire existence, his tongue darting out here and there as it pleases, his teeth grazing along my jaw line. He smells like beer, and I like it.

His hair is thick in between my fingers, and he moans approvingly into my neck as I give it a few tugs. His body is talking to me, by the way his hands are digging into my hips, or how he's towering over me, our chests glued together, trying to eliminate as much space as possible. My fingers fall from his hair, and trail down his neck, across the wide expanse of his hard chest and abdomen, and slip underneath the fabric of his shirt. I gently run my nails across the sensitive skin lining the hem of his jeans and belt. I smile approvingly when he shivers.

He breaks away from me for just a moment, staring at me with dark, hungry eyes. At the wrists, he grabs my hands, turns, and swings me around him, my back now facing the bed, and he pushes me just hard enough that I'm almost thrown onto the surface of the bed. I giggle at the unexpected contact, and he crawls over me. He doesn't settle there, nestling between my legs like I'd want him to.

Instead, both hands are at either side of my head, and he kisses the sensitive skin right underneath my ear, causing me to be the one shivering, now. After a few teases, he leaves me, standing at the foot of the bed, where my legs are hanging off the edge. He takes off my flats, which are thrown over his shoulder casually, in different, random directions. He leans over the bottom half of my body to hook his fingers on the elastic of my leggings, and peels them away. Now I'm bare from the waist down, and I'm _really_ glad I took the time to shave this morning. I'm just now realizing he's had his coat on up until this point, but it's being shed to the ground. There are two clunking sounds, and I know that they're his shoes.

I'm grateful when he returns to me, this time in between my legs. His arm reaches underneath me, grabbing me by my butt, and he situates us fully onto the bed. We're not properly facing head-to-toe. In fact, I'm not really sure which direction we're facing, but we're all on board, and that's all that matters to me.

I have _literally_ waited days for this. I'd been silently cursing their work schedule all week, and partially Murphy for interrupting something that was going great last time Connor and I were together. But it's okay, now, because he's finally here, in my bed. The familiar warmth in my lower belly is ever present, and I'm so desperate at this point, clinging onto him so badly, that I'm almost aching.

Not even thinking, my hands reach for the bottom of his shirt and pull it over his head. It's tossed off somewhere I don't really know or care about. He's catching on that I'm just as ready for this to happen as him, and he leans up, breathing heavily from the intense kissing, and pulls my blouse over my head. It joins the rest of our clothes on the floor. He doesn't waste any time with the bra, unhooking that, and flinging it off.

His mouth is on my neck again, and his hands caress my sensitive breasts. My entire body is alive from the mixed sensations he's causing: teeth, tongue, hands, the grinding in between my legs. My hands in his hair, I'm trying not to pull too hard, but I can't exactly say that I'm paying attention. A yelp escapes my lips as his clothed thrust hits just the right spot, and there's a growl from him as he stands momentarily to remove his jeans.

I stand with him, taking his face into my hands, not even caring if he's struggling or not with the distraction. He seems to do okay, though, as I hear the clink of his belt hit the tile floor. His hands move to my waist, but I maneuver out of his grip, pushing him onto the bed. He's positioned on the edge of the bed, sitting up.

I kneel over his lap and take advantage of the access, holding his chin in between my finger tips and tilting his face as I run my tongue and teeth over his skin. He tastes like sweat and whiskey. When I take the lobe of his ear into my teeth, he moans and his hand grips my hip, positioning me over him. I feel him at my entrance, and he slowly urges me to slide down his length.

I emit a few sounds into the crook of his neck as he fills me, and he isn't hesitant to tell me how he wants me to move, both hands on my waist now, guiding me up and down. My right arm is wrapped around his shoulders, where my left is at my side, but my nails are digging into him. He doesn't seem to mind. He kisses my chest, grazing his teeth over the half globe of my breasts.

My mind is clouded. I don't know what's going on. All I can feel is the intensity of pleasure washing over me. After a few moments of me straddled over his lap, the movements getting rougher as we go, he's moving underneath me, and now my back is against the blankets.

I bite my lip when he grabs my body, and flips me over like a rag doll, seemingly effortless. I'm on my knees, facing away from him, and he arranges my legs. His right arm is on my shoulder, the left guiding himself back inside of me, and he thrusts. Hard. I drop onto my elbows, burying my forehead into the sheets, my eyes closed. My moans are amplified because my lips are only inches away from the bedding. As loud as it is in my own ear, I'm deaf with pleasure. Some senses are dulled, and others are heightened. I'm intoxicated.

He's using his arm on my shoulder to manipulate the force of his thrusts, and his other hand on my waist is keeping me in place, not that I have any intentions of going anywhere. My fingers are in a death grip around the sheets, and my head just might explode in a minute. His breaths are heavy, and regular. Every few moments or so, he will slow down, and pull out of me very, very slowly, only to ram back in, whispering something in that accent of his.

"_Fuck, Avery._"

"_I got no intentions of stoppin', lass." _

"_That's right, jus' like tha'."_

And it just about sends me over the edge.

But, it's the combination of his low, husky voice in that thick accent, with the perfect thrust that he repeats over and over. Then there are fireworks behind my eyes, my blood races, and I can hear music in the back of my cavernous, endorphin-ridden mind.

I cry out, and his thrusts become even more unforgiving, and he stiffens against me with a moan, his fingers leaving white prints in the skin of my shoulder. And we fall into a ball of sweaty, tired limbs.

Like every storm, there's a calm that follows. Our bodies are wrecked with post-orgasmic feel-good's. There isn't any incoherent pillow talk. Just a couple of niceties whispered into one another's ears, and the steadiness of our breaths as we both fall into a deep, rejuvenating slumber.

* * *

I wake up the next morning to realize that last night was in fact not a dream. The week-long standing sexual aggravation of the boys' absence has been quelled. It's a relief.

I'm pleased that Connor didn't sneak out in the middle of the night. Despite the brazen demands of my alarm clock, the man doesn't stir. I have a few minutes before I have to start getting ready for work, but I take those few minutes to spend familiarizing myself visually and physically with Connor's body.

Careful not to wake him, I caress the back of his hand. On the index finger on his left hand, _VERITAS _is written in thick, gothic letters. He's covered in tattoos. Along his forearm is the Celtic Cross. Mary Magdalene is tattooed on the left of his neck, and on the right of his upper chest is his Mother's name. They're all, from what I've seen so far, religious and family oriented. I really admire the twins' faith. I'm envious they have something to put all that faith into. I don't have that.

I've never particularly disliked tattoos, and I've never really preferred them either, but there's something different to Connor and Murphy's body art that I just respect. Not only do Connor and Murphy have a firm belief in what it's important to them, but it's declared in black on their skin, a declaration they'll faithfully harbor for the rest of their lives.

They are prone to trouble, though, which is evident by the random placement of scars. There's a small white flaw in his skin, right below his elbow. Another is located underneath his collar bone. And there's a third on the flesh of his thigh.

The wound from the bar fight, the one resulting in my making the boys' acquaintance, is almost healed. It's been two weeks since the bottle was smashed onto that thick skull, lodging in the shard of glass Lauren had to fish out. It's scabbed over and it will probably leave a scar to add to the collection.

Hey, maybe he'll remember me by it. I'll always be attached to the night that scar was made. Not that I have any intentions of breaking this off anytime soon, but it is inevitable that this all will end, right? This relationship is young and currently unexplored, but will we grow tired of each other? Will one of the three of us require more than the others? Will this all be incredibly casual or delicately serious? There are a lot of ways for this to turn out. Regardless, I suppose it's unhealthy to contemplate the end. Either that, or just useless.

* * *

With this being Connor's day off, I leave him in my bed to rest. And once at work, the day flies by relatively quickly. I'm kept busy, and due to lack of distraction, thanks to my finally cleansed sex drive, I manage to be quite productive. Around lunch, I receive a phone call at my desk from Jack, establishing a time to meet for our run. It's dusk by the time I meet him in the lobby of my apartment building, dressed for the workout. Connor was nowhere to be seen, so I assume he's returned home.

"And are you ready for me to wipe the floor with your butt?" I tease.

"Hey, I've been away for a few weeks," he says as we step onto the pavement.

"What? Those Island girls didn't do enough to keep you in shape?"

"Oh, ha-ha." It's dripping with sarcasm.

Jack and I have always been competitive with each other, from drinking games to working out. Our runs range from two to four miles, depending on our moods and physical condition. There's a park exactly a mile and a half from my apartment where we both collapse onto the grass.

"So," Jack musters through heavy breaths. "You and Connor, huh?"

Ah. I'm surprised this question hadn't come up, yet. "Yup." In the shade of the twilight, I stare into the tree canopies above us.

"That's weird."

"How's that?" My brows furrow up at the tree.

He leans up onto the support of his elbows to look down at me. "Because, Rocco referred to you as Murphy's girl, last night." Oh, here we go. "And Murphy didn't correct him."

Jack is aware of my lifestyle and is a full supporter of it, so I don't hesitate to clarify. "Well," I sit up, mirroring his position, "That's because I'm seeing Murphy, too."

His eyes widen as the information fully registers. "Avery – they're brothers!"

I'm partially annoyed by his alarm. "Jesus, Jack. It's not like they're sleeping together." Just because we're all well acquainted doesn't mean we all have to crawl into bed together and have sex. "There's no incest involved."

I can tell that he's still struggling with the entire concept. "But, they're brothers. They can just openly and knowingly share a woman like that?"

"They're twins. They pretty much share everything." I feel Connor's confidence from last week's grocery trip fall off the tip of my tongue.

"But – how? Do they take turns or –?"

I have to give it to him. With these kinds of relationship setups, sometimes the mechanics are different, or even complicated. _Who's turn is it? Who sleeps with who next? Do all three go on a date or just two? How does the sex work? _All of these components change depending on the people. "To be completely honest with you, this is fairly new to us. We're still figuring things out."

He sighs in disbelief at the information. "Well…. Good luck."

I chuckle. "It's not a big deal, Jack."

Connor and Murphy, so far, seem incredibly pleased and totally without worry. This gave me confidence in everything, too. But I don't expect Jack to understand right away. As accepting as he is of it, this still isn't his lifestyle. I know he's not one to judge, either.

The remaining of our three mile run goes by smoothly. It's nice to have Jack back in town. I love the boys' company, but I have my best friend back.

"You want me to walk you up?" He asks, escorting me to the elevator of the lobby.

"Oh, it's fine. I'll call you later this week, okay?"

When the elevator arrives, it's empty and I step on alone. The ride is solitary, allowing me to reflect on the day. Things cross my mind like meeting the new deadline and making plans with the boys for one of their days off. Then, the lift dings and the metallic doors slide open.

I'm hit with a wave of piercing, deafening screeching. I can almost feel a vibration in my chest at the intensity of the sound. There's a split second where I'm confused, but it dawns on me.

The security alarm.

I step through the doors, worried eyes aimed toward my apartment door, heart racing, and adrenaline pumping. The door is open, and a figure, dressed fully in black is passing through it. Its face is totally hooded, a rather short, petite frame. My brain immediately jumps to the burley mobsters from McGinty's. This isn't either one of them, without a doubt. Whoever this is, they're too small, short, and not nearly muscular enough.

Seeing me, the figure stops in its tracks. My apartment is located at the end of the hall. I think I have them trapped. They can't go anywhere, right? Except back into the apartment, maybe. But the door is still open, and I see a little furry blob dart out of the door. It's my cat, Libby, an established escape artist. The pet owner in me over powers my desire to carry out this standoff, and I break formation to catch her.

As soon as the figure sees me head towards the cat, they dart off down the hallway towards the stairwell. One of my neighbors is poking her head out of her own apartment, watching this mess unfold.

By the time I get Libby inside, the alarm has stopped, and there's a voice coming in through the intercom. I turn around, and the intruder is gone.

* * *

**Author's Note: **_Real quick, I just want to point out something about Avery's personality. She is a narcissist. She isn't some perfect, confident character. Yes, she's confident, but she's too confident. When her narcissism is mentioned, I'm mentioning a flaw. I just wanted to clarify, before anyone starts throwing around Mary Sue labels. If I'm not properly portraying this as a flaw, I need you guys to let me know so that I can make sure to work on that in future chapters. You know, better myself as a writer and all that jazz. Thanks. _


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **_Welcome to Chapter 7 of OMWF! Sorry about the wait. Got distracted with a possible _The Walking Dead_ fan fiction, which miserably failed... I'm happy to be back writing with our lovable Murphy &amp; Connor. _

**SOMETHING TO NOTE: **If you're interested, I've uploaded the _Soundtrack!_ for _Once More, With Feeling_. It's linked on my profile. You'll need a Spotify or Facebook account to access it. Enjoy!

* * *

7\. Surprise

My arms are folded, and as I'm staring up at the officer I'm honestly doing everything I can not to scream at him. So many things are going on in my mind at once. _Why are they being so unhelpful? My father was never like this, and he never let his subordinates act like this either._ I'm not even surprised the police officer is being a jerk, from how they acted when we spoke to them before. Mostly, I'm aggravated. I haven't decided yet if these cops are crooked or if they really just don't give a shit.

When the alarm went off and the security company's representative spoke to me through the intercom, the police were automatically contacted once it was verified that the alarm wasn't false. I knew that the police needed to be involved, after , technically, the third break in (Lauren's apartment, and then mine twice) but I wasn't expecting to be standing in front of a uniform wasting an hour of my time.

Murphy is sitting at the bar, watching me from afar. I know he's worried about me, but he respects that I'm trying to handle this on my own. Someone who doesn't respect that is Jack. I regret putting his name down as my only emergency contact (considering my parents live hours away) because he's standing right beside me, practically berating the already annoyed police officer.

"What do you _mean_ you can't do anything about it?" he hisses, his hands gesturing rapidly.

The police officer is short and pudgy. He was probably at a doughnut shop before getting this call. He rolls his eyes and gives an exasperated sigh. "That's what I said."

I shake my head. As terribly as Jack is handling this situation, I jump in to say, "The alarm went _off_. There's proof that there was forced entry."

The police officer is now ignoring Jack (whose arms are folded as he angrily taps his foot) and is looking at me. "It doesn't matter that the alarm went off. There's no captured video of the intruder, you can't tell me what he looks like, and he's not in the building."

"She," I correct. I can see the officer's already terrible mood take even more of a dive.

"Look, I know you think that this _Laura_ person broke into your apartment, but she has no reason to."

"Her name is _Lauren,"_ my voice rises, "and I just broke up with her, so yeah she does."

"Yeah, lady, but you just got through tellin' me that her apartment got broken into, too. It's got to be the same person. Whoever broke into hers most likely broke into yours." There is a buzzing from his shoulder. He stops himself to speak back into it, and then turns back to me with a patronizing tone. "Unless you're tellin' me she messed up her _own_ apartment and then came and tried to trash yours too?"

Jack wasn't there when everything happened, but Murphy had. Instinctively, I look across the room, making eye contact with the Irishman at my bar. Although I'm not sure what expression is on my face, I'm sure he's mirroring it, wide eyed, like a deer caught in the headlights. It's almost an illustration of realization for the both of us.

I'd ended it with Lauren for the first time the day our apartments were both broken into. _Randomly showing up at my work, the sudden mood change, throwing the vase at me, and completely disregarding it._ I consider things, and I really don't think I'd put it passed her to fuck up her own place for attention. Granted, that doesn't explain the balcony window, but it's better than our previous theory about it being the mobsters from the bar, which went to shit when I saw the intruder as I was getting off the elevator.

The police officer's words sound farfetched, but I can't help but find it possible.

He can see the thought process on my face, letting out a laugh. "You really think this girl would do this to ya?" He gives an obvious glance around my apartment, starting toward the left and rotating to the right, taking in all of our surroundings. "This intruder, the first time, _left a door open_, which you didn't even _report,_ by the way."

I bite my lip nervously.

"And this girl threw a vase at your wall. Hardly an attempt at murder."

What is the point in installing the alarm system if assholes like this were the ones to respond to it?

"I want your badge number, buddy!" Jack shoves his finger into the cop's face.

Proudly, he points at the metal shield with his stubby sausage hand and a sarcastic smile. "Go ahead." Then his expression hardens. "And I'm not ya buddy."

Murphy appears behind me, speaking for the first time since arriving unexpectantly in the middle of this mess. "Look, if yer not goin' to do anythin' productive, why don't ye just leave, then?"

The police officer glares at the man, but says, "There's really nothing else we can do. We searched the building. He's not here, and the lady, here, hasn't given me any real information to go on."

I really want to punch this guy. I suck in a deep breath, counting backwards from ten in my head and slowly let out the air. "Is the report finished?" I point at his metal clip board with chicken scratch all over it.

"Yeah, it's done."

"Then I guess that's all then?"

This guy doesn't like me. He doesn't want to be here, and he's a rather shitty police officer. The look he's glaring at me and there's venom dripping off of every word in his tone. "Yeah, that's all."

"Then, you can leave."

He turns on his heels, heading towards his partner leaning against the door in my foyer. His partner hasn't said anything since arriving, and I'm wondering why he was so uninvolved. He helped search the building, but that's it.

The snappy officer gives me a half-hearted, part-of-the-routine goodbye and heads for the elevator. Surprisingly, the silent partner stays behind. He takes a step close to me, lowering his voice so that either the boys can't hear him, or maybe his partner in the elevator can't.

"You know, I'm pretty new to the force, so I'm kinda just tagging along ya know? Getting the hang o' things?" He's young, a pretty boy. He reminds me of Jack when we were both young, just getting out of college, but his hair is golden and his eyes are a deep blue. There's kindness in the tone of his voice, and he reminds me of a brand new sheet of paper, warm and crisp out of the printer. He's untainted by the corruption in the career he's about to take on.

There's a tiny metallic plate located above the shield on his uniform. _Carter._ He continues speaking. "You're gonna have to ignore Jimmy. He's a dick to everybody."

"Does he get much work done like that?"

He leans in just a little more with a sheepish grin. "I kind of hate the guy, to be honest. But I'm getting a new partner soon, so I'm just bidin' my time."

"Good for you." I sound almost sarcastic due to my mood, but I mean it. I couldn't imagine working with a douchy cop like Jimmy. It's assholes like that who give good men like my hard working, moral-abiding father a bad name.

"Get over here, Carter!" Jimmy yells from the elevator, but the rookie ignores him.

"If anything happens," he scribbles something on the back of a ticket. "Give me a call. I'll come and handle it." He points behind him. "I probably won't have this dead weight connected to my hip either."

A smile forms on my lips. He reminds me of my Dad, always going through the extra trouble to help someone in need. My heart warms and I'm washed over with a wave of relief. "Thank you."

He returns the smile. "Of course." He holds out a hand for me to shake. "Good luck. We'll go get this put in the system, okay?" He looks over my shoulder and waves at Jack and Murphy.

Sweet Murphy returns the wave, but Jack is on his phone in the corner, unconcerned with the workings around him. Then, I watch Officer Carter and Officer Ass Face disappear behind the metallic doors of the elevator.

Briefly, I enjoy a moment of peace. I'm sure Officer Carter will take the initiative and properly input the information in the system, and if anything happens, I will make sure to give him a call. But an angry voice breaks my positive aura, and I bee line for the business man in the corner.

Right as his eyes fall on me, he's ending his cell phone conversation. I probably look like a bull, steam coming from my nose, horns ready to impale. "Could you have been _any worse?"_

His eyes are wide and he's taken aback. "Wait, what?"

"You didn't help _at all!"_

"He was being a dick!"

"So were you!"

"Yeah, so?"

"Do you think that helps?"

We're just going back and forth at each other, hashing it out, but Murphy tries to intercept, attempting to serve as peace keeper. But before he can say anything, Jack snaps at him.

"And what are _you_ doing here? You have nothing to do with this?"

I'm taken off guard by the nasty comment, but Murphy doesn't skip a beat, unbothered by Jacks' terrible attitude.

"I was jus' comin' to visit with the lass. Don't think I need yer permission now, do I?"

Jack makes the mistake of stepping forward towards Murphy, I'm assuming because he's always been there to protect me, and doesn't like the idea of Murphy sharing in that position. But before Murphy can step forward in response, which he tries, I jump in between them, plastering a palm to Jack's chest and forcefully pushing him back.

"Leave," I hiss.

"What?" he says, as if what I just said was so incredulous.

"I'm nipping this in the bud. You guys can measure dicks another time." I point towards the door. "Leave."

There are words he wants to say, but he bites his tongue, his lips forming a tight line. He huffs an irritated exhale and starts for the door in a stomp.

I'm at his heels. "We'll talk about this later."

"Whatever, Avery."

Oh, great. _Whatever._ I've known this guy a long time. He's pissed at me now. Before I can get anything out of him, the door slams behind him, blowing wind in my face, almost smacking me in the nose, but I manage to stop just in time. My heart is beating, and my too-brief moment of peace is totally out of sight and probably not retrievable.

"Fuck," I hiss under my breath.

"Well, he sure is delightful, isn't he?" Murphy has a beer in his hand. He throws arm around my shoulder and instinctively, I fold into him, wrapping my arms around his torso.

"He's just being competitive. He does that sometimes." He just normally doesn't compete with my romantic interests.

"Sure isn't a sense in competin, then."

"What do you mean?"

He smirks down at me. "Cause, between me an' Connor? He'll surely lose."

* * *

It's Wednesday. The boys have had their two off days, Monday and Tuesday, and they'll both be getting off work around the same time as me. Unfortunately though, I'll be busy for an hour or two after work.

I know that if the boys knew where I was heading, they'd try to discourage me. They'd try to talk me out of going, or at least attempt to accompany me. But if Lauren is as crazy as I think she is – crazy enough to break into someone's apartment and fuck up her own – I want to keep her as far away from the twins as possible. This is my baggage, I need to deal with it by myself, and keep my loved ones out of the cross fire.

It's almost payday, so I really don't have a bunch of money to spare, but I suck it up and pull a one-hundred dollar bill out of the hidden pocket of my purse I keep for emergencies. Mentally telling myself to replace it later when I get paid, I hand it to Lauren's greasy, perverted-looking landlord. And I try to keep my distance from him as he leads me up the stairs. He keeps trying to fall behind and get a sneak peak up my skirt, but I'm pretty good about stopping, requiring him to catch up in order to avoid being too obvious.

"I evicted her last month," he informs me gruffly, standing in front of her apartment door rifling through his giant ring of keys. "She hasn't paid rent in three."

"So when did she move out?"

He tries to swing the door open, but it stops abruptly as it collides with a pile of rubble. "Last week, a few days after the place got broken into."

As I step over the threshold, the place looks identical to when we'd been here before. Couch pillows ripped apart, mirrors shattered, dishware broken in the bottom of the sink. The couch is still on its side from being flipped over. In the few days she was here, she didn't even bother picking anything up. Probably because she'd already gotten an eviction notice and didn't even care. In fact, if she was the intruder to my home, and staged that desperate phone call, the act probably doubled as revenge against the landlord. But of course, I can only assume.

The landlord hovers at the door and allows me to look around the place. "Did the apartment come furnished?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Nope, all hers. Apparently didn't give fuck about it, huh?"

Now, he's smirking at me. My stomach curls looking at him. He needs to shave his premature facial hair, because it looks like pubes glued to his face. There's very unattractive perspiration on the top of his lip, and the dark circles underneath his eyes don't help his appearance any. The crown of his head is bald, save a few strands wisped across the top, as if to secretly hide the bareness. It's not fooling anyone.

I'm disappointed, but I don't know what I was thinking. As if I was going to just be able to waltz up to her, ask her if she was the intruder, and take it from there? Nice kidding yourself, Avery. Nothing is that easy.

Her absence doesn't ease my mind, either. And things aren't really looking in her favor. The more I consider it, the more I think she's the one. If she is, though, I'll need proof for anybody to do anything about it. And if she isn't, then I need to find out who. I'm about to consider these incidents stalker-territory.

I wander into her bedroom. Four of the drawers in her dresser are empty, and her bathroom is bare of essential toiletries. I don't think she'll be coming back anytime soon. There are knick-knacks lining the shelves and her jewelry box is still in place. I don't bother looking in it, I don't really care. But what does catch my particular interest is a text book on her bedside table.

Picking it up, it's heavy in my hands. It's the same book she was taking notes from that night at the bar. I wonder why she left it. Maybe the semester's over or maybe she's ditching school, too?

"She was a med student, right?" he landlord asks from the jewelry box, digging through its tiny compartments.

I open the cover of the book, nodding absent mindedly at the scavenging beer gut behind me. In the center of the white-lined cover is all capital, bold letters that read: "RENTED: MASSACHUSETTS COLLEGE OF PHARMACY AND HEALTH SCIENCES."

Rented? Well, then, I guess this needs to be returned, then.

"Can I have this?" I ask the landlord.

He's shoving cheap looking jewelry in his pockets, but I don't bother saving him the time. He shrugs. "Don't matter to me. Book ain't gonna do me no good."

"Thanks." I head for the bedroom door, then onto the apartment door. "I'll show myself out."

* * *

I give Connor an extremely vague answer when he asks me about the text book on my dining room table. I don't want to lie to him, but I don't want to get into the Lauren-thing either. "Dunno," I try to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Must be Lauren's." Technically not a lie!

He shrugs it off, and follows me into the bedroom where Murphy's already burrowed into my pillows with a hand shoved into my bowl of popcorn. The TV is on, which is rare in itself, only happening once a week, and it's the only TV in the apartment. I don't live with anyone, so there's no use in me having two, and I just so happen to enjoy my Star Trek episodes in bed.

I grew up watching Star Trek. My father doesn't watch much TV, but if he is, it's either a western, or some sort of involvement in the Star Trek franchise. I was raised on the original series, and was allowed to graduate up to The Next Generation when it began when I was 13. I'd come home from school with some sort of issue, and instead of giving me a long lecture like a boring dad, he'd set me in front of the TV and force me through an unexpectantly relevant and relatable episode. Half of my morals were formed around that show.

Now, every week my father and I phone and compare notes on the happenings with the crew. He even calls to remind me not to miss it, but today, he didn't call, which is rare for him. I did have the boys though to distract me, and it proves to be a good distraction at that.

I take the spot next to Murphy, who looks like a squirrel with all that popcorn bulging out his cheeks. Connor's feet are at my side, his head at the end of the bed, propped up on his elbow. Turns out, Connor is a sci-fi fan, too.

The boys are quiet, quieter than they have ever been around me, in fact. The final commercial ends and my television screen is dominated by red, blue, and golden uniforms. The usual set up takes place, ending with a dramatic rift from the orchestra, and the intro begins.

"Bathroom break." Connor hops up, heading for my bathroom.

"Anybody who needs to do anything, snacks, potty break, all of it-" I announce, gathering up the empty beer bottles, "- do it now. Star Trek is notorious for its long-ass, narrated intros. And no doubt, there will be _another_ commercial break after this."

"Moar poffcorn?"Murphy's mouth is full and he holds up the bowl to me.

I chuckle at him and gesture towards the kitchen. "Yeah, let's go pop a few more bags." Murphy groaned once I dropped the DS9 bomb on him this afternoon, but it's looking like as long as I can keep the popcorn coming, he'll be content.

I'm keeping a mental count in my head for Star Trek as we perform our tasks in the kitchen. Murphy his chugging a glass of water and I'm popping another bag of popcorn for him. There are two beers on the counter for us to take back into the bedroom with us, accompanied by a large glass of iced tea.

I'm grabbing napkins and a handful those little moist towelettes I like snag from restaurants to take back to the bedroom with me. Then, I feel warmth at my back. My lips curl at the familiar sensation and my items are forgotten as I turn into Murphy.

His hands are on either side of me, placed on the counter behind me, locking me in place. He's smirking as he angles his neck to put his mouth on mine. I sigh into him, unintentionally, and my muscles relax and he's almost supporting me. My hands slide up the back of his neck to tangle in his hair, and his mouth tastes like popcorn and beer. It's a really strange flavor combination, but it's on Murphy, so I'll take it.

We've only slept together once. My sex drive has been nonexistent since the break in, considering my mind has been on another planet, but apparently I'm feeling better because if he wanted to have sex right here, I'd probably be completely down for it.

Instead though, I simply enjoy the moment, the feeling of his chest pressing against my breasts and his calloused palm sliding up my back underneath my loose t-shirt. Connor's probably still in the bathroom, because he hasn't come looking for us yet. My mind blanks, anyway, when Murphy moves to my neck. My mouth falls open just slightly as I drown in the pleasure of his tongue, mouth, and unshaven scruff send me through a whirlwind of physical pleasantries.

There's a banging in the background, but I don't even pay attention to it. Murphy's rhythm stumbles momentarily, but he's just as committed to this connection as me, so he continues.

I wonder if Connor's been secretly wishing to cock block Murphy. Not that Murph and I are anywhere near sex right now, but something is going great, and it would suck if we had to stop this. But if Connor was wishing it, he got it, because he's standing in the door way with an expression I can only describe with one word.

_Confused._

"Avery?" he calls, in almost a worried tone.

Murphy is annoyed, but I'm too concerned with Connor's unusual demeanor.

"What is it, Connor?"

"Well, uh, not really sure how to tell ye this but…"

And then I hear it. The thick British, high pitched voice, the unbelievable amount of cheerfulness in so few words, and it can only come from one possible being.

"_Oh, Avery! Where are you hiding? I need to see my little girl!" _

She appears behind his shoulder, teeth white, and the corners of her lips practically touching her ears. Hair like mine, and the one to gift me my amazing cheek bones. My stomach drops.

Connor's body immediately tenses at her presence behind him. "Yer parents are here."

My eyes fall closed as she pushes past the Irishman. _It's my fucking mother._

* * *

I'm standing in my bedroom behind a locked door with my phone glued to my ear. There's a concert of sounds emanating from the living room, all from Connor, Murphy, my father, and my incredibly loud mother. The other line is ringing and I'm crouched in front of the TV, shoving a VHS tape into the VCR.

Jack's voice is groggy on the other line. "Hello?"

"I will have you know," – my tone is sharp, and my words short – "that I'm recording the new DS9 over the hockey game you made me record while you were in the islands."

The grogginess is gone. "Why would you do that!?" I imagine him shooting up in bed, wide eyed and heartbroken. Serves the fucker right.

"Why would you call my _fucking_ parents!" I hiss into the phone in quick response.

There's a silence on the other side of the line and for a minute I think he hung up on me. But he eventually speaks, and the tone is weary. "Your dad called you then?"

"Call me?" I laugh sarcastically. "CALL ME?" I abusively hit the record button on the VCR (I've already missed ten minutes of the show), stand up, open my bedroom door, and hold the cordless receiver out towards the busy, crowded living room. "Say hi to Jack, Mom and Dad!" I order in a yell, causing for everyone in the room to freeze except for my Mother.

"Oh, hello, Jackie!" my mother sings, trying to make her way over to take the phone, but I fall back into my cave, slamming the door behind me.

"Holy fucking shit, they're _there?"_ Jack exclaims before I put the receiver back to my ear.

"You did this! Didn't you?" My heart is racing, and I feel like I'm on fire. My temperature always rises when I'm angry, so in effect I'm peeling off my leggings and digging a tank top out of the top dresser door.

"I… I… I didn't think they'd fly down here?"

"That's if they flew. If my father starts complaining about back pains because he drove here, four hours from Manhattan, I'm going to send you the medical bill _before_ I slit your throat in your fucking sleep."

"Avery-"

"You had _one_ job Jack. To not be a fucking asshole. To be my _friend._ To go the fuck home. To not call my fucking parents!"

"Avery, that's like four things."

"IT ALL FALLS UNDER THE SAME CATEGORY, JACK. THE NOT BEING AN ASSHOLE."

There's a knock at the door.

"WHAT."

I'm suddenly ridden with grief when I hear my Mother's tiny voice on the other side of the door. It's full of that Motherly Worry, and I realize now that I'm making a scene in my room. Everyone outside probably has no clue what's going on in here. The heat in my body subsides, and the heart rate slows. It's replaced with the kind familiarity of my mother's comfort, just because I know she's fifteen feet away from me.

I really do miss my parents. I grew up as an only child, and we live four hours apart now that they've moved back to New York. I'm sure that they're wracked with worry because surely Jack told them about the break in.

"Jack." It's crazy how different my tone is, how calm it instantly has become, and that probably scares him more than the yelling.

"…Yeah?"

"I'll just call you later, okay?"

"…Okay, Ave."

My eyes fall on Commander Sisko on DS9. I'm relatively calm, but I feel the need to salt the wound. "By the way, your hockey game is gone."

_Click._

My mother smiles when I open the door after re-dressing, and I take her into my arms. She wears the same perfume as always, and the English accent from her birthplace is like velvet in my ears. "There, that's a girl." My nose is buried into the crook of her neck, and her soft sweater caresses my face. "What's got you so upset?"

I pull back from her just enough to look her in the eyes. "Did Jack call you?"

She nods, smiling meekly.

I roll my eyes.

Gently, she swats my shoulder. "Oh, Avery, that boys' been in love with you since grade school. You ought to be thankin' him! Your father would too upset with you if you successfully kept this from us!"

"So you know about the break in." My eyes are on my dad who's holding my iced tea in his hands. He's talking to the boys, and both stare up my dad, who towers over them a good five inches. It's quite a funny sight, honestly. Despite his age, my father is in excellent condition. We actually both became vegan at the same time, when he decided he wanted to take control of his health. He's in perfect physical health, and could _easily_ bench twice my weight.

"Yes, we do," Mom continues. Her eyes follow mine, and she chuckles at the scene before us. "Why don't you go save your friends?"

I step from behind her to make way for them, but her fingers take my wrist softly, causing me to look back at her.

"By the way, Avery…" she whispers. "Both of them?"

The smile says it all. She lets me go, and I rescue the boys. "Daddy!" It comes out as a song in my voice.

His intimidatingly stoic face melts and he beams in my direction. The iced tea is practically shoved in Murphy's chest, sloshing drink on his shirt, and Dad steps to me to embrace me. He's so much taller than me, and his shoulders are so broad, I'm picked up in the hug and he makes that sound in the back of his throat people make when their hugs become rather enthusiastic.

"Hey, Flower," he says, putting me down. The tops of his cheeks are a little chubby when he smiles. If they had round red spots on them, and with some white hair and beard, he'd look like Santa Clause.

I'm standing back, holding him at arm's length. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Oh, you're not excited to see your folks?" He's teasing. "We only drove four and a half hours to see you."

"Through rather gruesome traffic by the way," my mother adds.

"You guys drove?" I see my father's eyes register the look of disappointment on my face.

He pulls away from me, taking the iced tea back from Murphy (with kind of an unwelcoming glance, too), and starts sipping at it again. "Well, it was too last minute to buy a plane ticket."

My eyes close and my head tilts back. They _did_ drive. My father put up with grueling hours when he worked, and my mother had to deal with those, too, considering she hardly got to see him ever. I hate that they took time out of their week to drive down here and check on me, all because _one_ police officer decided not to do his job.

I detect someone's physical presence, and for a split second I think it's my Mother, who's the resident comforter of the world, but the grip is masculine and my father is on the other side of the room. Straightening up, eyes opening, Connor is standing behind me with a supportive smile. This is a rather brave move to make in front of someone's father within the first five minutes of meeting him. But I love it, that Connor isn't hesitating at attempting to ease my mind. That's why the boys are amazing. They are themselves one hundred percent of the time. No puzzles, no secrets, just themselves.

It's amazing how such a small touch can zap me back into reality and inspire me take on the problem at hand. I return my attention back to my parents. "Why didn't you guys call?" I ask.

My father's brows cock at the question, as he makes an awkward little grin, and I've seen this face before. In response, my eyes fall right on my mother, who's looking rather amused with herself. "Well, I wanted to see what your place looked like," she shrugs. "I wanted to know how you kept your home when you were under the impression I wouldn't be coming."

The boys chuckle at her words as Mom begins looking around my apartment, no doubt inspecting for dust lines or kitty hair balls. She's meticulous, and I'm glad they never gave me a brother, because she would be a perfect monster-in-law to his wife. (If you think I'm implying I won't be getting married myself, to provide a son or daughter-in-law for them, you'd be correct. I'm not the marrying type.)

"To be honest, I'm actually impressed this is the normal state of your apartment." I watch this woman, whose loins I ripped out of twenty-six years ago, pull a handkerchief out of her purse and wipe it across black shelving on my wall.

I see Connor is witnessing this as well. His lips are slightly agape in awe.

"Oh come on, Diana," my father coos, plopping down on one of my sofas, making himself at home. "We know our little girl takes care of her things, don't we?"

"I have a housekeeper, Dad. I don't even clean." Hey, at least I'm honest.

Daddy adheres to the news like its nothing. "Oh, sweetie, you work so hard. Why should you have to clean after yourself?" If I told my dad I had dead bodies in a freezer, he'd find a way to justify it.

Murphy is sitting in the swivel chair of my desk in the corner, over by the balcony door, out of my father's line of sight, chuckling away at the interaction. The boys like to make fun of me for having a housekeeper, but I haven't forgotten about the awkward encounter between my Dad and the boys upon reentering the living room.

"So, Mom, Dad, did you get a chance to properly acquaint yourselves to the boys?"

My father's loving expression hardens, and returns back to its former stoicism. "I met Connor," he says in a normal tone, but then it drops a few octaves. "And Murphy."

Connor being the closest, I glance at him in confusion. He just shrugs at me.

Mom sings and glides across the room to the other twin hiding by the desk. "And I met Murphy!" She runs her fingers through his hair, smiling down at him. I know she's resisting the urge to just wrap her arms around him and awkwardly suffocate him in her bosom. She does it to Jack all the time, but I'm glad she's minding herself. My parents are totally accepting of my lifestyle. If this is going to traumatize anyone, it's going to be the boys.

"Don't leave Connor out, Mom."

Her eyes don't leave Murphy as she plays with his hair, the man looking up at her wearily. She throws a half-hearted wave over her shoulder. "Oh, hi Connor."

"What the hell?" I say, but no one hears me.

Instead, my father gets up from the couch and stalks toward Connor. The Irishman's Adam's apple noticeably bobs as he gives a hard swallow. Eyes on Connor, my father speaks to me.

"We haven't eaten yet, Flower. Have you?"

"No?" I'm mostly confused by what's happening in my home. My mom all over Murphy. My dad all over Connor.

"We should go out to eat." Now he's talking to Connor. "You should come, son." He takes a few seconds to add, in a once more obviously different one. "I guess Murphy should come, too, huh?" he glances over his shoulder.

And then it dawns on me. My parents have known these boys for all of fifteen minutes and they've already fucking picked favorites. The way Mom is giggling in conversation with Murphy. It almost looks like flirting. And Dad looks like he's about to rip Connor's face off, which _I swear_ means he likes him. Dad has never been overly fond of Jack, so pretty much ignores his existence. His dismissal of Murphy is similar.

Jesus, they're like toddlers and already causing trouble.

Murphy looks like he can't decide if he's enjoying himself or not. He's smiling, and is engaged in conversation with my mother, although I can't hear them. Murphy is the more sensitive of the two boys, and very logical. It makes sense my mother would smell out that sensitivity and gravitate towards it. I know I need to go over there and save him.

"How does that sound, Mom?" I call across the room.

"What, Dear?" The woman didn't even hear me.

I roll my eyes. "Dinner, Mom!"

I don't even think she's really paying attention, eyes still on Murphy, as if he's some priceless still life. "Sure, Dear. That's fine."

Good God. While Mom is crawling up Murphy's ass, my Dad is towering over poor Connor, who doesn't realize that this is Daddy's sizing him up. But he's doing his best, not faltering. If this man wasn't my father, I'm sure Connor would have started a fist fight by now, just out of instinct.

Then my Dad asks flatly. "How much do you weigh, boy?"

Connor is taken off guard by the question. "Uh…one-eighty-five, sir?"

Dad's eyes narrow. "I could bench two of you."

"Tha's… tha's good to know, sir…"

Dad looks at me. "I like him."

* * *

**Leave some love in the little box below! It really helps me understand what you guys do and don't like, and make this story as enjoyable for you as possible! - Happy Reading! **


	8. Chapter 8

8\. Margaret Donavan

I bump into a teenager, causing a slight pain in my shoulder. I resist the urge to say anything, but Jack is keeping me plenty distracted with his four-thousand questions.

"So, they chose favorites?'

"Yep."

"And your dad…and Connor?"

"You got it. And Mom and Murphy. Can you believe that?"

I can almost picture Jack pinching the bridge of his nose on the other line. He's had plenty of time to regret the decision to call my father. Twice already during this phone conversation he's asked me if I really recorded over his hockey game last night. (I did, and I regret nothing.)

"Conversation during dinner was weird. They all just paired off, and I just awkwardly sat off at the side, the fifth wheel."

"Maybe you should get a third boyfriend. Do you think they have another brother?"

I can sense the tone in his voice, and I roll my eyes. I could rebut this, but I'm already at the library to the University, and this is way more important than telling Jack where he can shove his sense of self righteousness. "This is me. Gotta go."

"Call me later, okay?"

I'll think about it. "Bye, Jack." I don't even bother lying to him, clicking the little red button on the cell phone my mom let me borrow.

There's an office in the back of the intimidatingly large library where text books are rented to students, for I'm sure an outrageously expensive yearly fee. At the desk inside of this office is a lady who looks like she should have retired two decades ago. She's hunched over at her desk, peering down through her thick lens glasses, eyes narrowed in focus, slowly pecking away at a keyboard.

The plastic of Lauren's textbook is smooth and warm underneath my touch after carrying it all the way here from the taxi. The woman doesn't notice me even after the fourth time conspicuously clearing my throat. Throat thoroughly and needlessly cleared, I take a step forward. "Excuse me?"

"Hm?" she says in a loud hum.

"Excuse me." I hold out my hand. "My name is Avery Cross."

She leaves me hanging, bends down slightly and pulls out a small, yellow notepad. She scribbles on it, after taking her time to pull out her pen, remove its cap, and begin her meticulous handwriting. I stand here awkwardly waiting for her to acknowledge me, my hand long since dropped back to my side. Eventually, the drawer sounds, her things discarded within, and she stares at me over the rim of her spectacles. "What can I do for you?" Her voice is loud, and it's now occurring to me that this white haired, fair and wrinkle-skinned woman might have hearing problems, a gift from age.

I permit myself to sit in the chair in front of her antique-looking, dark wood, cluttered desk. "I found this book." I place a hand on the surface of the textbook protectively. "And I'm trying to return it to its owner."

For such a slow old lady, she doesn't hesitate very much at all. "This isn't the lost and found, dear." I can hear the distant, cigarette habit she might have had years ago in her voice.

It's discouraging to be turned down so quickly, but I'm hoping that if I could just get her to tell me some information maybe on Lauren's parents or maybe just a good phone number I could reach to get in touch with her, I'd be able to resolve our issues, those issues being her unhealthy expression of discontent over the nonexistence of our relationship. "I'm just trying to return this to my friend, that's all." Not a lie. I'm trying to sound casual, even though this is just a scheme.

"Shouldn't you have your own friend's contact information? Do you have any mutual friends that you know of?"

I rack my brain, and the answer to the old woman's question is no. I don't have any mutual friends, and the only phone number I have goes to her apartment, which she apparently isn't even living at anymore. I awkwardly shake my head and shrug. I feel sort of embarrassed even being here, although I'm doing my best not to show it. What was I even thinking this would accomplish? She's not going to disclose private information of a student. She's old, not stupid.

"If you leave the book here, I can check it back into the system. If she needs to rent a new book, she'll come and get one."

In the back of my head I recognize how flawed of a system that would be, making someone unnecessarily rent a second book when they could just return the already registered one. If I were actually Lauren's friend, I'd return the book to her.

"And it is technically school property." The old woman mimics my shrug, but hers is drenched in boredom and indifference. "So, technically, I can't let you leave with that."

There it goes, my only bargaining chip at the table.

She's holding her hand out for the book, and I don't even hold any aggravation towards her because she _is_ right. This is school property and I'm not the registered renter. So, with a sigh, I put it in her frail, spotty hands. "If you see your friend," she says, "tell her to come pick it up. If she catches it before it clears in the next forty-eight hours, she won't have to pay a second fee."

Lauren's probably busy throwing vases at someone or breaking into their houses. I don't think she's worried about school; otherwise she wouldn't have left it in her evicted apartment.

The old woman doesn't even dismiss me. Instead, she puts the book on a stack of papers behind her, and starts pecking away at the keyboard again. I sit silently for almost a full minute before I stand up, grab my purse off the floor, and leave her office. The largeness of the library is still intimidating, and this time it feels like it's taking forever to get to the exit, because my consciousness is consumed with how much of a total failure that was.

Why am I even looking for Lauren? What is it that I hope this search will accomplish? I know it's slightly correlated with the police's lack of willingness to cooperate, like I feel I need to take this into my own hands. Maybe, stupidly, I think if I see her I can verify that she's the intruder and maybe talk some sense into her? My dad used to tell people not to even acknowledge a stalker, and here I am, stalking the stalker.

Even though the rational parts of my brain can't justify this search, there's a warm, solid feeling in the pit of my stomach, an instinct that just knows I've got to find her. I'm not sure where it's stemming from. Perhaps it's the effect of being raise by a cop, having to do good? Perhaps its guilt for potentially causing Lauren to do these things by making her feel the way she felt when I broke up with her? But I know _that's_ not rational. I shouldn't be held responsible for someone else's actions, only my own. I know it's just emotions, being overwhelmed.

And suddenly, in that whirlwind of emotion, I miss the boys. Looking down at my watch, I know they're getting off soon. They'll make me feel better, they always do. They take my mind off of shit. The stress of meeting a deadline, the complications of my dating lifestyle, and now the after effects of those complications. They just keep my spirits up in general. They're pretty great.

But I didn't sleep very well at all last night, and I've got the urge for comfort food. There's a café conveniently on campus, outside of the library. I'm staring into a latte. Soy, no whip, all comfort. Winter is approaching, so day by day, it's getting colder and colder. Coffee is nice for that. It'll power me up with enough energy to get home, and then I'll have to figure out what to do with my parents.

I still don't know how long they're staying, not really getting a chance during dinner last night to discuss it. They were too busy crawling up my boyfriends' asses, but it's okay. My parents are typically always on their best behavior, so I can let this little hiccup slide. Nevertheless, I know my Dad came down about the Lauren thing, and truthfully I don't want him involved. I don't want anyone of my loved ones involved. Daddy can't really do anything really anyway, now that he's retired, or at least I don't think. He wasn't even an officer in Boston, but in a town an hour and a half away.

And Mom won't take long to get carried away. Every time she visits she comes up with these crazy activities for me to do with her, and asks when I'm going to quit my job to go write some novel in a cabin in the woods. First of all, I've never aspired to be a novelist. This is just something my mom came up with one day out of that crazy brain of hers. And Second, I would literally _die_ if I ever even stepped foot in the woods. The closest I've ever been to the wilderness is when I went to stay at my Uncle's ranch for a spring break during my junior high years. I went home after the second day because it turned out I was severely allergic to horses.

Maybe once my parents leave I can really start this thing off with the twins. We hadn't really been able to spend a lot of time together recently, due to work, Jack's return, intruder issues, and now my parents spontaneously showing up. They're both handling it pretty well, I think, considering they haven't uttered a single complaint, but that's how they are, easy going and utterly optimistic. I love that about them.

A man takes the chair across from me at my small table by the window. He's got an open cup in his rough looking fingers, and inside I can see pure, black coffee. Looking up at his face, I'm greeted with long, coarse hair and a thick, scruffy beard.

"Rocco?" This is certainly unexpected. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugs, adjusting himself in the seat. He's wearing a maroon button down, the top few buttons unfastened, exposing the solid white t-shirt underneath. He looks the way he always does every time I see him. Normal Rocco. "Deliverin' somethin'. Could ask you the same thing, though."

Oh, that's right. He's a courier, or even sometimes refers to himself as a 'runner'. I asked for details on the job, but Roc and the boys insisted that I just consider it a self-employed position. After hearing stories from my father, I've been able to deduce, after picking up certain hints, that Roc is most likely paid under the table and he's got a good reason for not giving details. I don't know what he does, but I was raised to follow my instincts. Rocco doesn't seem like a bad person to me. I don't _feel_ anything negative off of him whenever I'm around him, so I'm not bothered by the lack of information concerning his employment.

I, however, don't have a very easily explained answer for being here. I'm not a student, and he knows I'm not here to see Lauren, who I mentioned was a med student the first time I met Roc and the boys. Rocco doesn't hesitate to ask. "So, whatchu doin' here? Can't be the overpriced, shitty coffee." He takes a brave sip from his Styrofoam cup, uninhibited by the steam emanating from the liquid, indicating its high temperature.

A sigh escapes my lips. I'm here for a really stupid reason, and I didn't even make any headway. "I just needed to get some information on somebody." Not a lie, and not particularly alarming if the information got around to the Boys.

"Well, who? I know _everybody_, and jus' about every_thing_ about everybody."

I ignore this detail, as I'm sure its directly correlated with his job. "I'm sure you don't know much about this person."

"Who is it and I can tell ya."

I want to spill the beans and tell Rocco everything. It would be nice, though, for _someone_ to know what was going on inside my head, all of these thoughts, all of these worries, all of these possibilities. "I tried to squeeze some info out of the librarian, who's got access to it, but the frigid, old bag won't budge."

His eyes widen at the words coming out of my mouth, surprised by the unexpected aggression. Rocco has never seen my possible level of intensity like the Boys just witnessed last night. He's going to learn, soon, if he sticks around. "Well, Christ, what'd she do to you?" It comes out in sort of a half chuckle, but there's still curiosity in his voice.

"Well, she had the computer right in front of her, and all she had to do was type in a name and _bam_ that's it. Information galore."

He shrugged once more, taking another gulp of his lava coffee. After savoring and swallowing, he puts the empty cup down and says, "Well. There anyway I can help?"

* * *

Don't ask what's wrong with me, because I really don't know. He asked me, and I just came up with this random, hair brained idea.

People are looking at us as we pass as if we're aliens from another planet. I think it's because of Rocco, and the fact that he looks nothing like a college student. I could probably pass, but he's giving it away. That's okay, though, because these dumb, arrogant teens and stressed young adults aren't the ones we have to convince.

We're right outside of the library, and Rocco is still prying for answers. He wants to know what I'm doing, and how exactly I plan on getting the information I need. "Don't worry about the information or how I'm going to get it," I insist. When we enter the library, it's for the most part empty aside from a few students tucked into their own private corners and librarian is sitting at her desk, checking in books, so we're unnoticed as we make our way back to the rental office. "I just need you to distract her."

We're a few aisles away from her office when I come to a sudden stop, causing Rocco to collide with me, his chest crashing into my back. I'm able to maintain balance and push him aside, behind one of the tall bookshelves. He stumbles back, and once he regains his footing he exclaims in a whispering hiss, "What the fuck was that about!?"

I stick my head out from behind the shelf, and point in the direction of the old lady from before. Rocco, a good six inches taller, looks from behind me. The old woman is holding a notepad and a pen. I can only guess she's taking inventory, as she peers up at the books, jots something down on the paper, and repeats. Whatever it is she's doing, she's not in her office. This is when I turn to Rocco.

"Rocco, I don't care _what _you have to do. Just…"

He's looking down at me, and I can see the slight bewilderment in him. This is an incredibly random predicament that I've drawn him into. I have no right to ask him to do this, and for a split second, I consider just bailing on this entire thing. I know what I'm about to do, and I know that it's illegal. But I know if there's anybody who can help me pull this off, it's Rocco. Whatever his job entails, it obviously means his boundaries of principles aren't very strict, not nearly as strict as mine, and I know I couldn't perform my first violation of those alone without someone holding my hand.

But I think about coming home with my balcony door open. I think about having a standoff with the intruder in the hallway. Lauren throwing the vase at me. The still healing gash on my shoulder. Crying in the lobby when Connor and Murphy come to find me after the first break in. Then there's the fact if the police officers had done their jobs, I wouldn't even fucking be here.

"Just…distract her. That's all. I need maybe five minutes, okay?"

He readies himself, taking in a deep breath, and emerges from behind me and the bookshelf, making his way for the old woman.

My eyes are already on her office door, and I just wait for the bait to be taken, listening closely, waiting for my window of opportunity to dash across the aisle and into the room.

"Who are you?" I hear from her shaky voice.

"Hey, uhh…" Rocco is coming up with this as he goes, much like myself. "Where can I, uh, find the World War II stuff?"

"I'm not the librarian," she says, but I don't stick around for Rocco's response.

I'm already inside of her office at this point, the door having been left slightly ajar. I'm quick to make my way over to her desk. The image from the screensaver is bouncing around the frame of the monitor, and with a gentle wiggle of the mouse the computer comes back to life.

The password entry dialogue box pops up, and I don't hesitate to initiate the master re-set. Margery locks herself out of her computer all the time and our IT guys take forever to respond to a call. When you've got a deadline and you _have _to get access to your work, you figure it out. The only thing about the master reset and this prehistoric monster is that it takes almost two and a half solid minutes for it to completely restart.

I'm nervously looking outside of the door waiting for them to return, but I can hear Rocco a few aisles away, and the librarian annoyingly shush his inappropriate volume. The computer beeps from across the room and I return back to the desk chair. The background image is a cat, which I can't say surprises me at all. She comes off as a crazy cat lady to me. Takes one to know one, right?

I click the desktop icon for the school's database, which takes no time to locate since it's clearly labeled as _University Data Base for Rental Dept_ which is probably all the luck I'm going to be getting for today. And I just sort of figure things out from there, using common sense knowledge from working with a computer five days a week, and an old woman's over simplified set up.

There's a search bar for the student's name, and I type in Lauren's first and last. I'm feeling fairly confident about this plan that should have gone to shit by now, and how well it's working out, until my stomach turns at the words that pop up.

_No results found._

My brows furrow at the words and my first thought is that perhaps I didn't perform the search correctly. My eyes dart over the window, making sure that I didn't miss an important piece of information, that perhaps I entered in the wrong place or even spelled her name wrong. I come to the conclusion that there's no other possible method to find this information, giving the program's layout before me, so I attempt again.

_No results found._

I almost panic. Has this been all for nothing? My eyes dart over the woman's desk frantically as my mind races a million miles a minute. I don't hear Rocco's voice anymore, but I'm not hearing anything right now. The world is on mute and my brain is on hyper drive. Randomly my eyes fall on a stack of text books on the corner of the desk. They're all facing downward, the backs exposed to the room. In the bottom left corner of the cover of the top book is a small, sticker, decorated with black lines of alternating thickness. It's a barcode, with a number underneath.

"That's it."

I turn around, grab the textbook I'd brought in with me that the old woman absentmindedly discarded, find the barcode on the back, and in the search engine on the computer, instead of entering a name, I enter in the twelve digit barcode. The _No results found_ is nowhere to be seen, and a mass of text appears in one search result.

The image from what I presume is Lauren's student ID appears, because it's her. She looks different. There are circles underneath her eyes and her raven hair is long, and unsytled. I don't think much of it considering everyone changes over the course of college. Maybe they don't require new picture ID's with each term, just the renewal validity of the card itself.

I take in the information before me, searching for a parent's address or a new phone number. I find these things, an address not matching the one to her apartment and a phone number with even a different area code. But what I wasn't expecting was the basic information.

_Margaret Donavan._

What?

I open up the text book where I'd seen the school's stamp from before, looking for Lauren's name, making sure I didn't do something obviously stupid to get the wrong person. There is no name at all written anywhere in the text book, leaving the barcode as its only means of identification. But the picture on the computer screen is definitely her. And that name is definitely not the name I know her by.

_Age: 24_

_Name: Margaret Donavan_

_Hair: Black_

_Eyes: Brwn_

_Rental Period: 9 weeks…_

It all fades away. I'm trying to match all of the information on here to what I know about her, but no matter what I do the attention all falls on the name, which is definitely _not_ Lauren's.

But Rocco's voice is approaching, and I can only assume the woman is with him. So I hit the print button, close out the program, turn off the monitor, and snatch the warm newly printed, unfamiliar information out of the device. I hover at the doorway, waiting for sight of Rocco and the lady. They're rounding the corner, but I'm still out of sight, so the opportunity is taken to escape from the office and I return to our previous position from behind the bookshelf.

The woman is annoyed. It's displayed clearly on her face and is sounding in her tone. Rocco is holding a stack of books I know we're not leaving with and he probably doesn't give a shit about. They're standing at her office doorway now, her back to me, and Rocco catches sight of me from over the woman's curly, ivory white hair. I nod, letting him know that we're done, and he half-ass ends the conversation with her and makes his way over to me.

Both of us disappearing behind the shelf again, he randomly drops the stack of books on a nearby table and we hasten our way for the door.

"Christ, you weren't kiddin'. What a fuckin' frigid old bitch!" he lets out on the steps of the library, lighting a cigarette.

We make our way for the edge of campus where I call a cab for us. "Did she call you _Dear_ condescendingly, too?" I ask, pulling out my mother's cell phone and shoving the folded paper into one of the pockets of my purse.

"Jeeze, first she didn't want to do shit for me and then she wouldn't shut the fuck up. I fuckin' hate old people." He shoots off the normal banter I would hear from him, and I'm sure the man on the phone can hear every word he's saying.

"Yeah, they kind of suck." I end the call, listening to Rocco complain a little more. I'm too consumed with the information I found to productively hold conversation, so I'm quiet until the cab arrives right as Rocco throws away his cigarette. Inside the cab, the driver is instructed by Roc to drop me off first.

We're on opposite sides of the back seat and I'm still not saying anything. This silence, though, is unacceptable by Rocco's standards. "You gonna tell me why I just did that?" he gestures to the University behind us, getting smaller and smaller as the distance increases between it and the car.

I just committed an act of breaking and entering, and technically Rocco was involved, as he served as the distraction. I'd been telling myself I didn't want to involve anyone, but damn it, he was involved whether I liked it or not, now. Lack of information wasn't going to change that. The paper is peaking out from the outside pocket of my purse, and without thinking this all the way through, I pull it out.

"I'm not asking you to lie to the boys," I say to Rocco before placing the folded sheet in his hand. "If they ask you, don't lie. But if you could just not bring this up to them, that'd be great."

His brows are furrowed with uncertainty and he hesitates to take it from my hand, but finally he does. It's unfolded underneath his fingertips, and his dark brown eyes run over the text. His eyes widen, and looking away in shock, he shoves the paper back into my grasp. "Fuck, you shouldn'tna showed me that."

I'm not going to lie, it feels good that _someone_ knows. Someone knows that I'm looking into this Lauren thing. Or…I guess, the Margaret thing? I don't fucking know. I don't fucking know anything that's going on anymore, but _somebody_ knows. I don't feel so alone anymore in all this.

"Connor and Murph are my friends, and I… I _ain't_ lyin' to 'em." He shakes his head and shuffles in his seat.

"Don't lie to them, Rocco." I lean toward him, trying to speak low enough so that the cab driver can't hear me. "If it comes up and you can't avoid it without lying, tell them, and I'll take all the blame. But you know how they are, Rocco."

His eyes meet mine at the last few words.

"They're protective. They'll worry. Just let me handle it, and I'll tell them when it's right, okay?" I'm not lying to him. I _will_ tell them when it's appropriate, when the timing permits and when there isn't so much to lose."

* * *

I'm confident that Rocco will do his best to let me be the one to deliver today's news to the boys. I haven't decided when I'll tell them. But there's an address on the piece of paper in my purse, and visiting that has got most of my interest, currently.

When I open up my apartment door, Murphy is already there. Murphy and Connor spend a lot of time together. I wonder what someone like that does when they're alone. They're always in bars or running around, and if they're not doing those two things, they're probably with me. Or at least that's how it's been since this…thing of ours started.

He's inside of my room, sitting at the foot of my bed. He rests his elbows on his knees, cradling his face in his hands. The light of the television tickles his face in the darkness of my bedroom, the curtains blocking out what little left of sunlight there is outside. Underneath the flashing color is an expression of worry. It's the first time I've ever seen any negative emotion on either Connor or Murphy. They're both so untouchable by sadness, so impossibly positive. So when I see him like this, I'm instantly shaken.

"What's wrong?" I ask him, standing in the door way.

He's sitting up now, turning off the television, just quickly enough so that I'm not able to see what he's watching.

"What were you watching?"

Noticeably, he makes the effort to push away those negative emotions from his features, replacing them with a smile. And now I'm seeing normal, regular Murphy. It's almost chilling how he's just back. Is that what it's like when they're alone? They're serious? They've been serious with me before, but in a supportive, comforting way. But even then, they relied on the lightness of their humor at least slightly.

Maybe it was the News, which I don't even watch anymore. I suppose that's a surprising thing for a columnist to say. It's all sad, and half of it is hyped up. Almost all of it is unimportant. We shouldn't be focusing on political sex scandals. We need to focus on more important things like poverty or society's parasitic drug problem.

I'm distracted by his disguised strange behavior when he approaches me, wrapping his arms around my waist. There isn't a trace of that former discontent and now I'm overwhelmed by a wave of comfort. Following his example, I snake my own arms around his neck, and our foreheads press together. I can feel his breath on my face. It smells like mint and cigarettes.

"I had a weird day," I whine in a whisper.

I expect him to make some quirky comment, something copyrighted by the MacManus charm. I'm waiting for him to crack an amused smile and start spitting off jokes to shake me out of this deeply, depressed state I've fallen into due to today's stress. But he doesn't do any of that. Instead, he places a light kiss on the tip of my nose and says, "Aye," as if agreeing with me, as if today has also been weird for him. "But everythin's gonna be okay, yeah?"

I can't help the smile that slowly forms on my mouth, grateful for the simplicity of his comment. I nod my head. Everything will be okay. Everything will be fine. The workings of today were not typical workings, and soon, things will be back to normal. I might not even be entitled to say that, but I've got to believe it.

There's no underlying sexual intention when he pulls me into bed. We both throw off our shoes, and I pull off my uncomfortable office skirt. I burrow into his side underneath the covers, and my head is placed on his chest. We don't talk. We don't say anything. There's a lingering silence in the room, and it feels like the warm chocolate you drizzle over an hot fudge, ice cream Sunday, the last component of something to turn it into perfection. I'm in bed, comfortable with the wonderful, innocent soul of this sweet man, listening to his steady breathing, and no one has to say anything at all. The fact that we can just sit here and not have to force conversations about our days is a good thing. And honestly, I couldn't tell him the most important parts about the day I've had anyway.

I don't know how long we're here. And when I look at the clock, when I hear my mother enter the apartment, it doesn't tell me anything useful because I never looked to see when I'd returned home to begin with. I've just been going through the motions all day, today, without keeping track of any time.

"Oh, Avery Dear, are you alright?" she calls to us from my bedroom doorway in her typical sing-song voice.

I rise from my position, about to get up, to see that Murphy is actually asleep. Gosh, how long have I been laying here? I haven't even fallen asleep, because my brain has just been bouncing back and forth in a soft haziness, close to that of dozing off. Shimmying on some pants that I'd discarded mindlessly near the edge of my bed, possibly from the day before (or even before that), I shush my mother in the politest way a person can and corral her out of the room, pushing us into the living area with the door closing behind me.

"Just a nap, Mom." I'm proud of how casual the words actually came out. I sound like a completely unbothered, undistracted, functional participating citizen of society. This surprises me because I sure as hell don't feel like one. I feel like the tiny piece of trash that gets stuck on the wad of gum at the bottom of a shoe. I'm going behind my boyfriends' backs to look for some stalker. I'm bringing their best friend into it, and on top of that, I committed an act of breaking and entering today. I knew, at the time when I'd made the decision, that I'd feel guilty later. I just didn't know to this extent.

My mom makes way into the kitchen, brown grocery bags tucked underneath an arm. She begins to unload the bags, spreading groceries along the surface of the counter. I catch sight of a jug of orange juice and reach for it, beginning to unscrew the cap.

"So, where's Dad? He's not with you?" I ask before taking a swig of the fruity liquid, assuming he's on the elevator up with his own armful of bags.

My mom's head is stuck inside the fridge as she's stashing away some vegetables in the crisper. "Oh, he's at the gun range with Connor."

Turns out, it burns when orange juice comes out of your nose.

Gun range? Connor? Daddy? I _really_ don't like that math. Mom practically reads the worry from my mind when she pats my shoulder. I lean over the sink, run the water, and begin to rinse my face, trying to ignore my burning sinuses.

"You're not serious?"

"Oh, Connor will be fine," she chuckles.

My voice is muffled by the fluffy kitchen towel I'm using to dry my face. "Because Dad has a _great_ track record with my boyfriends." I eventually stopped introducing him to them. He's never physically assaulted one, but he's made a few death threats, if he even spoke to them at all. There were a couple of girlfriends he got along with fairly well, but boyfriends… It was a different ball game.

There's assurance in her voice. "Your father likes Connor. He says he's got a positive attitude."

They both have a positive attitude, and surely Mother knows this is true for Murphy by now, but I know that Connor and Dad have more in common. Both are into Westerns, Star Trek, and are rather intense personalities. But still, a gun range? Does Connor even like guns?

"Do you want another glass of orange juice?" Mom holds up the jug , but I shake my head with a grimace.

"I'm good." I can still feel the acidity on the inside of my nose. Mom continues putting up the groceries while I fix myself a glass of water to combat the soreness in the back of my throat. "How long are you going to be here?"

It's a normal question, intended partially to start conversation, but primarily because I need to know how long I have to play hostess before I continue looking for Lauren (or Margaret…I guess?). But she doesn't answer right away. For a second I think she didn't hear me. She's just putting up groceries. I hear her sigh. Finally after another minute she answers, "Your father thinks he can talk to the Captain at the station here, perhaps figure out why those police officers were so little help to you."

My eyes roll into the back of my head, and my face falls into my hands. "You can't be serious." It's muttered more to myself than to her.

She leans against the counter across the kitchen from me, bracing her hands on the edge of the counter. My mother looks just like me. I've been told this my entire life. Our frames are even similar. I hold a little more muscle on my bones thanks to my father's genetics, but my mom and I could almost pass for sisters. It's borderline creepy. Her chocolate brown eyes are full of sincerity when she says, "I tried to convince him not to interfere, but he insists he should."

Mom is aware of my preferences to privacy. I don't like it when people butt in, and I don't like it when people try to take control of things. Unfortunately, Daddy is over protective, so he does that a lot. Mom let me grow up a long time ago. Dad – not so much. "What does he even hope to accomplish?"

"As far as I know, it's just lunch with the Captain. They used to be mates back at University. He's going about it very casually. You father isn't one for scenes, you know that."

She's correct. He's not. But I wish he'd let me handle this. Granted, those police officers should have done their jobs. The ones who reported to Lauren's apartment after she trashed it, and the second set who reported to mine. I received at least some sympathy from a rookie for the second go-around, but damn, that's all I get? Also, if Daddy caught wind I was handling this on my own, forgive my words, but he'd shit an ostrich egg.

"Darling, he's here, so you might as well let him help. He might be right on this one."

I wasn't concerned with right or wrong. I was concerned with the principle, that I was grown and needed to be left to handle this. But then again, who knows how potentially dangerous this could turn out. What would Lauren have done had there not been an alarm system?

* * *

I'm already inside my bedroom by the time the front door opens, Connor and Dad returning back to the apartment. My cordless phone is pinned to my chest as I search awkwardly in the dark for my purse, where I pull the folded piece of paper with Lauren's information. On the other side of the closed bathroom door, I sink to the floor, the cold tile chilling the bottom of my thighs through the thin, fleece pajama pants I'm wearing.

I feel paranoid at the volume of the beeps as each finger hits a number on the keypad, dialing the only contact information on the paper, that of which I can only assume is Lauren's parents.

No one answers.

"_Hi, you've reached the Donavan residence,_" says the voice of what I'd guess is a middle-aged woman's voice. "_We're all unavailable at the moment. So if you'd leave a message after the tone, we'll return your call as soon as possible." _

Good. The nervousness in me is thankful that I don't have to do this right away. I can put it off for just a little longer.

"_Hi,_" I begin in a little over a whisper, but hopefully not loud enough for Murphy to hear me from bed. "Hi, my name is Avery Cross. And I think I might have a book belonging to…" I stare down at the sheet of paper. This will be the first time I say her name out loud. I half expect someone to pick up and tell me that Margaret doesn't exist, there's only Lauren, and that I'm crazy. I'd be too lucky for that though.

"I think I've got a book that belongs to a Margaret Donavan? If you could give me a call back at the following phone number, we can arrange for me to return it. Thank you. Have a good night."

A groan, ridden with anxiety, escapes my chest after I hit the end button. Silently, I scold myself for calling so late, but I knew if I didn't do it right now, I probably wouldn't do it. I'd managed to find the courage while talking with Mom, after deciding that _my_ way is the only right way. Of course that sounds arrogant. There's a good chance my way is the absolute wrong way.

Well, I suppose we're going to find out.

I open the bathroom door and tiptoe back to bed. I haven't even said hello to Connor, but I'm not concerned with it. There's a spot in bed and it's got my name on it. I snuggle back into my place next to Murphy. His body radiates with heat, protecting me from the coldness of the room. His words from earlier echo in the back of my mind.

"_But everythin's gonna be okay, yeah?"_


	9. Chapter 9

HIATUS OVER! For anyone still tuning in...y'all enjoy. Thanks for the patience. Love you guys.

* * *

Chapter 9

"Who is it tha' lives here, anyway?" asks Connor.

The three of us are crammed into the elevator of an old friend's apartment building. After seeing my parents off this morning, I got a call from Jack with word of a get-together. Considering the attire he told me to wear and the time he told me to show up, I'm guessing it's more of a party than a friendly gathering.

"Who cares?" retorts his brother with a sly smile. "Free booze!"

I shake my head at Murphy. "You are too excited by that."

Connor sticks his head in the space between me and Murphy with a cocked eyebrow. "Like ye ever said no t'free booze. Ye didn't deny ours tha' we brought tha' first night when Murphy saw ye naked."

My heart drops. I glare up at Murphy. "You told him?"

Connor leans back, pleased with himself.

"Oh, Avery…" With the shape of his eyebrows and the tone of his voice, I can tell he's a little flustered by the revealed information. "It's not like we haven't both seen ye naked by now anyway…right?"

His brother snickers behind us.

I want to jump down his throat, not understanding that he has a point, but the elevator dings, pulling all of my attention. "That's not exactly how it works," I make sure to add before we step into the penthouse, "but whatever…"

Connor inherits my glare from Murphy as I lead them into the crowded apartment. It's after nine o'clock in the evening, and for it to be so early, there's been quite a turnout. Walter, my friend hosting the party, has wasted no expense. A beautiful, barely dressed bartender is stationed at his private, fully stocked bar near the entrance. The most impressive assortment I've ever seen of beautiful women flood the place. The lighting is low, the music is loud, and finally, the entire back wall is comprised of several large windows providing a gorgeous view over this wonderful city.

"Well, this is certainly a change of scenery." Connor is at my side, distracted from the previous words exchanged.

Murphy kisses me on the cheek before heading off into the crowd of people. "I'm going t'go find me a bathroom before th'drinkin starts."

"There's nothing stoppin' me." Connor's hand rests on the small of my back as he peers down at me through shitty party lighting. "I'm gonna go t'the bar. Ye want anythin'?"

"Just a Sprite for right now." I take a moment to admire him as he beelines for the bartender. Not a lot of women are able to show up with two aggravatingly sexy men like I just did, and I can't even begin to properly express how okay I am with that. Things have been good with the boys, especially considering – for the most part – my parents have granted their seal of approval. I'm doing well with focusing on just them for the moment, not dating anyone else. I really don't even feel the need to. They keep me very preoccupied. Mentally and physically: and yes, I mean exactly what that sounds like.

"Avery?" The voice is familiar, but it's one I hear primarily from work.

"Ben?"

Coming up behind me is the fellow journalist who was supposed to meet me the night I became stupidly involved in that bar fight with the boys. "Dude, what the hell?"

Ben holds his hands up in defense. "I know we haven't talked and I totally bailed on you that night, but things have been nuts, lately."

I sigh. "Oh, tell me about it."

"You, too? Could it have anything to do with those two gorgeous specimens who just walked in with you?"

"Oh…" Ben's a good guy to have girl talk with, but I doubt now is the time. No one knows about my relationship with them yet besides the housekeeper, Jack, and my parents. I'm not sure how Work would respond to me fucking two brothers without them immediately jumping to incestual conclusions. "Sort of, but mostly no. It's a long story." And I don't want to get into it. "Why haven't I seen you at the office?"

Ben's expression changes immediately, into something kind of awkward. "Uh…" His eyes fall from mine and he starts inspecting his shoe laces with a little too much interest, taking a sip of his thick, red drink. When he looks back up to me, he says simply, with a shrug. "I…left."

"Wait what?" Ben was one of the only employees in my department I'd actually call a friend beside sweet Margery. I'm surprised I'm only hearing about this now. He's also one of the only other writers for my magazine who has his own column, but his is based around physical and personal health. "But you love the Magazine? We pull in so many readers just from your stuff."

He shrugs a second time. "What can I say? I found something better."

Better? I don't know about that. Writers like Ben and me who pull in the readers we do get paid pretty well and are considered relatively valuable to the company. At the Magazine, we aren't under any contract. We could really leave whenever we wanted. Apparently Ben took advantage of that.

"For who?"

Ben, fingers frosty from holding his drink, comfortingly touches my wrist. "Oh, let's not talk about this here. This is a party! We can talk about work junk later! I saw your friend Jack around somewhere. He mentioned you. You should go look for him. I'm gonna go get a drink." He wrinkles his nose. "This one is nasty, too sweet for me, like liquid candy. I like the harder stuff. Do you want it?" He offers the drink up to me.

Sniffing the rim of it, it smells like strawberries and vodka. I like those two things. Hey, free drink. Why not? Ben heads in the same direction Connor had veered off to, who I don't see anywhere near the bar, or even Murphy for that matter. I'm left alone in this swarm. People are rubbing their bodies against each other. Laughter breaks through the clouds of inebriation. Through my feet, I can feel the music's bass vibrate the floor. My eyes fall closed as I just absorb the surroundings.

Every person gives off energy. If you can train yourself, you can become attune to those energies. The reason why I'm such a people person is because each person has a different signature, and it's truly intriguing to experience each individual so differently. I suppose that's why I'm so attracted to Connor and Murphy. It's like they're a single energy, yet two different energies at the same time. It's not unusual for twins to mesh so well like that. Anyone willing to pass up an opportunity to know those two is just missing out.

A calloused hand grazes my shoulder and I feel Murphy's chest press against my back. His stubble scratches the flesh of my other shoulder as he places a kiss. I melt right into him, and we fit well into each other. He wraps his other arm around my waist, and what feels like hours, we just stand there, swaying back and forth. We might as well be on another planet because I'm not paying attention to anyone. I'm pleased with just being right here. This is a moment of total peace. All my problems don't exist, and the troubles that have recently surfaced in my life trickle away into nothingness.

"Fair warnin'." Murphy's voice is warm against my ear. "Yer friend's comin'."

Friend? Huh? I open my eyes to see Jack heading towards us, a drink in his hand with a wide smile on his face. Oh yeah, that's right. I guess I should socialize.

"Avery! You made it!" He gives me a one-armed hug and then awkwardly nods at Murphy. I know he's only being civil, already having gathered that he's not that fond of the twins yet. "Have you seen Walter yet?"

"Oh, not yet. We just got here a few minutes ago."

"Where's, uh…" I practically see the gears turning behind his eyes, trying to remember Murphy's brother's name.

"Connor."

"Yeah…Right…. Remember, you're supposed to drink me under the table tonight?"

Behind me, I hear Murphy mutter incredulously, "I'd sure like t'see that."

I'm about to give him a smartass reply over my shoulder when Connor appears with my Sprite, his face flooding with disappointment. "But ye already have a drink?"

"Oh, I ran into a friend who hated this, so he just gave it to me…" Uncertainly, I try to decide back and forth between the soda and the beverage. I decide that, hey, why not just have both? The ice is almost all the way melted in my red, candy tasting drink, and it's really not that stiff, so I just finish it on the spot, handing Murph my empty glass when I'm done. "See? Problem solved."

Jack shakes his head. "You're gonna have to slow that down if you expect to even remotely be a challenge."

"Oh, hush, I could drink two more of those and still hold my own."

"Am I s'pose I'm missin' somethin?" Connor leans in to ask his brother.

"Oh, well, Jack here apparently thinks he can out-drink our little Drunky."

"No… Not Avery. She might like t'cut her booze with carbonated shit, but she can certainly get it down."

I roll my eyes. "I'm perfectly capable of drinking my liquor straight, thank you. Jack, why don't you go get something from the bar? I'll find us a place to sit." My competitiveness begins to brew inside, and in almost a warning tone I add. "Pick whatever you want."

Jack is pleased to be given this task and leaves us. I lead the boys through the apartment, doing my best to navigate through the various rooms and hoards of drunken people. I can't help but notice the eyes that fall on me and immediately transfer to the immaculate male beings right behind me. Most of the girls, at least, try not to look to obvious, but a few of them just don't care and are as blatant about it as they want to be. It doesn't evoke a jealous response out of me, but it's probably not that good either that I might as well be showing them off. Isn't that technically objectifying? Don't be a dick, Avery.

There's a study off of the main hallway. It's not empty, but it's spacious enough for me and Jack to have our little contest without too much of an audience and relatively little interruption.

"Ah," Connor begins, with obvious experience to pull his opinion from, "this here is a good spot. I'll go retrieve Mr. Wall Street."

Oh, that's what we're calling him?

Murphy takes the two end tables that were paired to a couple of wingback chairs in the corner and puts them together in the center of the room. I drag the chairs over, placing one on each side. I'm proud of our little setup, but standing back to appreciate it, it crosses my mind that this fancy ass furniture in this fancy ass study (rich people, am I right?) might cost more than three months of my rent. I guess the least I could do is grab a bath towel.

In the search for a towel, I put my drink down on the desk near balcony doors and leave Murphy to wait for Connor and the newly nicknamed Mr. Wall Street. There's a bathroom only a few feet down the hall, and I'm lucky there's no line, which is normally imminent with a party this size. The door, however, is closed. I've walked in on plenty of crazy things in party bathrooms, so I, at least, have the common sense to knock first.

But before my knuckles can touch the wood of the ivory white door, it opens, and the person standing on the other side of it the last person I ever thought I'd see again.

"Oh, hi Avery."

I hate it when she says my name. It's like velvet. I don't want my name to sound like velvet off her tongue. I don't want to hear my name come from her mouth ever. I haven't wanted that for a long time. She's taller than me. Her hair is almost the color of milk chocolate, long and curly, and her skin looks like caramel. Her irises are so brown they almost look black, blending in with her pupils. Towering over me, she stares at me through those thick, long eyelashes.

Oh, the woman who broke my heart. The _first_ woman to break my heart. The _only person_ to ever break my heart, or I even ever became that close with, really. "Natalia." My voice almost cracks. Why is my voice cracking? My voice never cracks. My heart is pounding and I feel warm all over my body.

"Do you need to use the bathroom?" There's a trace of mischief behind her smile. She knows exactly what she did to me, and I sometimes think she's proud of it.

"I just need a towel." The words don't come out right. It's like I mean for them to sound one way and then they sound completely different. If I want the words to come out like, say, a completely normal fucking tone of voice, instead they come out sounding like a dying baby animal. Shit, I can't even breathe.

In a graceful, swift motion, she pulls the hand towel off the little silver rack on the wall and holds it out for me. I don't say another word, and I actually take the fucking towel, snatching it out of her hands and retreating back to the study.

Jack is already sitting down in one of the emerald green, wingback chairs, a handle sized bottle of whiskey on the table. Connor and Murphy are patiently waiting for me, I'm sure ready to see who's going to be winning this.

What I should have done, for the sake of getting an idea of how far I'd even be going with this challenge, is inspect the label for brand quality and to find out what proof his pick was. But I don't do that. Instead, I stomp over, tossing the towel onto the floor, clearly not even caring what happens to this table anymore. I snatch that bottle up and sloppily pour two, to-the-rim portions into the shot glasses provided for us.

My sudden mood change is transparent because Jack lifts a brow. "Are you okay, Ave?"

Not even sitting down, I pick up the glass, and as I'm bringing it to my lips, right before I take the shot I go, "Natalia's here." Then I knock the burning liquid into my mouth and try not to think about it as I force it down my throat.

"Oh, damn." Jack sits there for a minute staring at his shot glass, almost nervously now. He knows the whole story. He was there for most of it. He knows exactly how much that woman fucked me up.

"Why's that name sound familiar?" Connor asks, feeling the vibe change.

I plop down into the chair, waiting for Jack to take the shot. "She's my ex. We don't need to talk about this. Jack – drink."

"You heard her man," Murphy shrugs.

I know Jack is taken aback by the news, but I don't feel like talking about my feelings right now. I'd prefer to be incredibly emotionally constipated, get drunk, and just not mentally deal with this right now. Finally, Jack does take the shot, and I take no time in pouring the second one. My throat is raw and my eyes are heavy. I wonder where my Sprite is? I take the second shot and grab my soda from the other side of the Study. When I return to our set up, Connor and Murphy are already taking swigs directly from the bottle, completely unphased by the taste and burn. I'm sure they've done this _plenty _of times.

I'm feeling very confident in myself, choosing to channel everything into the little competition of ours. I begin to level out. My heart beat slowing down and my body temperature lowering. My emotions fade away into the slowly rising buzz, amplified by my empty stomach.

I don't have much to say. I just wait for Jack to pour, since he's made sure to not let me grab the bottle from the boys. He's taking his time in between shots, too. I'm not sure if he's negating the entire point of this drink-off by trying to keep me from getting too drunk, or if he's the one wussing out. We're only four shots in, so neither one of us should be anywhere near finished. I just try to focus on my Sprite. The taste combination is kind of nasty, but the ice cold carbonation helps the tender flesh of my throat.

Also, it's delightful to see the boys getting along. Connor, Murphy, and Jack are all bantering on with very little inhibition. Whatever it was causing Jack to be over protective and Connor and Murphy to act defensive has apparently dissipated, at least for the moment. Alcohol – bringing people together. I was honestly beginning to worry about them. I suppose I should just keep the three of them inebriated. It's an expensive way to keep the peace, but it'll prevent any fist fights from happening.

I'm staring at the bottom of my empty Sprite glass when Jack pipes up. "Are you okay, Avery? You're not talking very much?"

"Oh, I'm okay. Just…" My eyelids feel so heavy. My shoulders don't want to support my head, and when Connor says something, his words don't come through. "I'm sorry, what did you say? I didn't get that." I look up at him, but between looking up from my glass to Connor's face, my vision begins to blur. I have to make it a point to strain in order see him, but even then, I can't keep the focus for long.

There's doubt in Murphy's voice. "Yer not already drunk, are ye?"

I have this ominous sensation at the bottom of my stomach, but I just can't place it. I look around the room, afraid that something else is happening, but everything looks fairly normal, aside from my blurred vision and weird hearing. I can see distorted images of people calmly sipping at their drinks on the other side of the room. I can even hear loud bouts of laughter from the hallway. Everything _seems_ normal. The hair on my neck stands. But something is wrong.

"I need caffeine. I'm just a little tired. Long day and all that." I try to force a laugh. I don't know why I don't tell them that my vision and hearing is altered. My motor skills seem to be doing okay. I can't feel myself walking, but I am closing the distance between me and the doorway to the Study with little issue. My motor skills seem to be alright, but I don't like this floating feeling.

Somehow I make it to the bar, which is swamped with people. I wait my turn at the end of the bar patiently, taking the moment to hopefully collect myself. I don't know how much time passes. Seconds, minutes, hours? I want to say hours, but I know that's not realistic. Regardless, I give up. I feel too much like shit, and that caffeine isn't worth it. So, I double back, bumping into one person after another. I _think_ I'm apologizing at first, but then I realize I'm just thinking it more than anything. Words aren't coming out of my mouth.

I hear my name from behind me. It sounds like Ben's voice, but it doesn't occur to me to say hi back. I just keep walking – or floating. Floating along, on a cloud, in the general vicinity to the Study.

But that cloud disappears as if the sun were coming out to warm the happy green earth. When my cloud disappears, though, I haven't fallen to the happy green earth. I just fall, and fall, until the sapphire blue skies turn to black. I'm just in this dark, colorless abyss, falling, for so long. And I don't even question it. I'm not worried about the party. I'm not thinking of getting back to the boys. I just wonder when this falling is going to end.

And then I feel feathers. Softness forms to the curve of my back. At first, it's nice, but I'm really warm. I can't see at the bottom of this soft-floored cave. The music is faint, whispering to me from another galaxy. Looking up, there's a light far, far away. From where I am, it looks like a lightning bug flying around, without a single care in the world. I wish I was that lightening bug. I'd kill to have no cares in the world.

The floor shifts beneath me. I try to brace myself, wanting to cry out, but nothing comes out of my mouth. I can't move either. But that lightning bug is getting so close. It doesn't even look like a bug anymore. It looks like a tiny star. What's a star doing in the bottom of a cave? It's coming closer and closer to me. I can feel it's warmth against my already flushed face as it idles around me.

The floor moves again.

I've never seen a star up close before. I've never even seen a star in space through a telescope. It's a vibrant, luminescent sunset yellow. It's a tiny little sun. How cute. If only I could touch it. If only I could show Connor and Murphy –

Connor. And Murphy. Oh, I just ditched them, didn't I? How am I going to explain that I was in the bottom of a cave?

The star, as if it's hesitating, inches closer and closer to my face, until it's hovering over the area in between my eyes. It doesn't hurt my eyes, but the warmness is a little uncomfortable. A droplet of sweat forms on my eyebrow and tiny droplets collect around my hairline.

Finally, it takes half an inch closer, and it touches the flesh of my face. In the very second it does so, my heart pounds, my mind explodes, and my breath hitches.

(xxx)

Hands. All I feel is hands.

I know they aren't Connor or Murphy's. They're smooth, clammy, small, feminine hands. Definitely not belonging to one of the twins. My head is killing me. Pain pierces through my brain and stabs the back of my eyes. I try to open them anyway, desperate to investigate the situation and find out what the hell is going on. But the room is dim. I can't see much. The only light comes from what looks like a small, orange lava lamp in the corner.

Hands. Everywhere. On my legs, on my arms, on my stomach.

My dress is bunched up around my upper thighs, and my toes don't feel constricted in the heels I came to the party in. Move your body, Avery. Just move.

Hands.

The music sounds so far away. If I can't move, can I find my voice? My throat, so sore. Why can't I speak or move? I didn't drink enough for that. I want to roll over and go back to sleep, but my heart keeps pounding, and the panic in the lower pit of my stomach is wrecking me.

Then I see it, a meshed up blur of tanned skin and raven black hair. Now I _know_ this isn't one of the boys. What in the _hell_ is going on?

"Avery?" That's Murphy's voice. "Where are ye?"

The hands stop.

Murphy! I want to call for him. I want to tell him I'm here. I know that's not happening.

I hear my name again. Now it's Connor. The bed shifts. Light floods the room as the door opens. It takes no time for me to recognize the shadowed figure as one of the boys. I can't make out what he says, but he's yelling. It's Connor. He doesn't come to me. Instead, he runs to the other side of the room. It's Murphy who kneels at my side.

"Avery? Are ye there? Are ye alright?" His voice feels like refreshing cool water washing all over my body, releasing me from this fever I've been suffering through. "Can ye say anything?" He bends over me. I want to focus in on his face, his beautiful, loving face, but I can't. My eyes just drift closed, and I'm unable to tell Murphy it's okay, through the ruckus he starts when he sees me fall out of consciousness. I'm okay. I just want to go back to sleep. I just – I just need to sleep.

(xxx)

"She's going to be alright," Natalia says, outside my closed bedroom door. "Keep her hydrated, but mostly keep her comfortable. It's tough for someone to have to go through that. Date rape drugs are more common than you'd think."

Connor speaks. "Ye – yer not goin' anywhere, are ye? What if she needs a doctor?"

"Then you can call her regular doctor. Avery has no intention on having any kind of relationship with me. But, I will leave a prescription for something to help her relax while she copes through this. You guys should suggest she go to a therapist to deal with this. And you need to figure out what to do about this stalker. It's obviously getting out of hand."

"Come on, Natalia." Jack's footsteps travel from the other side of the apartment, past my door, to the foyer. "I'll drive you home. Connor, tell her to call me if she needs me, okay? I want to give her some peace for now."

After a confusion of footsteps, the front door opens and closes. The thick curtains in my bedroom are closed, preventing the morning sunlight from entering. It's just dark in my room. I don't remember anything at all, except seeing Natalia outside of the bathroom. Everything is blank. Even me, I'm totally blank. Aside from exhaustion, I don't feel a thing. My body is molded into the mattress, underneath my fluffy duvet, face glued to the pillow. I stare at the wall. There's nothing. I should be panicking, but I know if I let any emotions in right now, the entire dam will break and I'll drown. So, if it's okay, I'm just going to sit here and pretend like I don't exist for a little bit.

I don't fall back asleep. Sleep is the last thing I want to do. Instead, I just sit here. Thinking about anything but last night. I need to call Ben. I don't think I ever saw him again. I need to feed the cats. I should call my parents, too, to make sure that they made it home alright. Should I go into work tomorrow? Or should I just stay home? I could just work from home. That's something I'll have to think about. What will this week's episode of Star Trek be about?

Around noon, my door opens. It's Connor. "Yer awake?"

"Been awake."

"Fer how long?"

"Since Jack and Natalia left."

His eyes glaze over, and his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. "Oh, well…" He takes very slow steps towards the bed, as if afraid to startle me, sitting on its edge. "So ye heard everythin' then?"

"Connor…" I regret saying it at normal volume as soon as the words leave my voice. My throat feels like I've been swallowing barb wire.

"Ye got yerself real sick in the bathroom at th' party," he says when he sees me massage my throat at the newly discovered pain. "Tha' Natalia friend o' yers had ye over the bath tub pukin' yer guts out. She said ye must not have eaten, tha' ye always get sick when ye drink on an empty stomach."

I have puked many, many times in front of Natalia. She was the first person I ever really drank with. I make sure to speak in a whisper. "I guess I should be happy she was there."

"When ye mentioned her before, I didn't think she'd be so old. How old is tha' woman?"

"She's seven older than me. A doctor, as you now know. I was merely a college student when we had our thing."

"She was real worried about ye. Jack was freaking out when ye weren't wakin' up. As was Murph. Oh – poor Murph. He's takin' this the hardest out of all of us. But Natalia took control of the situation while ye were in the bathroom while I kept Murph and Jack from panickin' to death. Ye coulda thought they were children."

"Natalia is an experienced control freak. You put her in charge of anything, and it will be run to maximum efficiency. She didn't help me out of love, Con. She helped me out of obligation. I'm no more than a patient to her now. Just like how I was just a plaything to her then." I sound harsh, and I probably even sound shitty from Connor's perspective. But these are all traits of Natalia's I'd come to the conclusion of a long time ago. Plus, the conversation is pleasantly distracting.

He forces a smile. There's no telling what's going on through his head right now. I couldn't imagine being in his position. "Considerin' ye puked what little bit was in ye last night, do ye want somethin' to eat?"

Oh, my dear sweet Jesus, _food_. My stomach violently rumbles at the very mentioning of it. "That would be amazing."

"What ye pinin' for? Ye shouldn't be cookin', on account of ye needin' to stay in bed. And the only thing Vegan I can think of is water."

The image of Connor attempting to cook anything makes me laugh, which then makes me curse myself when my throat screams at me. "On the fridge is a vegan take out menu. The stir-fry special." Connor is relieved from the potential responsibility of making food, and instead just settles for buying dinner. I don't bother asking if he's going to be eating from the same place, but I'll be surprised if he does.

Instead, I try getting out of bed. It feels weird, like this body doesn't belong to me, as if last minute, my soul was shoved into some carcass out of the lost and found box. My joints scrape against each other and my lower back hurts. I'm sure it's side effects from… Oh, just never mind.

My legs feeling as weak as they are, I don't feel comfortable even trying to shower yet, so I settle for brushing my teeth and hair, and washing my face. As minimal effort as it took, I feel almost human now. My brain still is running at really low speed, though, and I have to be very careful not to think too much, or that dam will break. I just can't deal with that right now. So, naturally, I keep myself busy. I make the bed, I feed the cats, put the kettle on for tea to have with dinner, and decide that I should probably answer some emails, as well.

My desk is located near the balcony door. On the way to my computer, I notice a figure. At first, I'm a little frightened until I register that it's Murphy. How long has been out there? Glancing up at the clock, it's already two-thirty and I've been up and about ever since Connor left. In fact, I haven't seen Murphy at all.

"_Oh – poor Murph. He's takin' this the hardest out of all of us."_

Is Murphy avoiding me?

Smoke from Murphy's cigarette dances away in the wind. It's pretty cool outside. The sun isn't out, after all, hiding behind thick, gray clouds. Boston is about to meet a terribly rainy night, by the looks of it.

"Do you want to come inside?" He doesn't answer me or even turn around to say anything to me at all. "Murph?" I come and stand beside him, leaning over the guard rail. "Are you okay? I haven't seen you all day. I didn't even know you were here."

His eyes are locked on the city, avoiding to even give me a simple side glance. "I'm sorry, Avery."

"For what? What's wrong?" I've never been in Connor or Murphy's position before. I've never had to watch someone that I care about hurt, or go through something traumatic. I've been blessed with a pretty peaceful life, but the downside to that is that it's left me in a blissful ignorance. Blissful, yeah, but ignorance is ignorance. I have nothing to comfort them with, and it bothers me.

Murphy blames himself for last night. I don't know why, and I'm not ready to ask. I'm not ready to talk about what happened, or even think about it, for that matter. So there's no need in even opening that bag of worms because none of us are ready for it yet. What happened to me last night didn't just happen to me, but the people around me who care about me. I almost feel guilty, like I should have just gone home or just not gone to the party in the first place.

Even though he won't look at me, I'm not shy in looking at him, staring at his face carefully. His jaw is clenched, dark circles under his eyes from no sleep, his face scruffy from missing a good shave. Murphy is the lightest-hearted person I know. He's so sweet and comforting. He was way more open to showing me physical affection than his brother, at first, who sort of just stuck with the raw sexual tension. Right now, Murphy isn't light hearted, and he's definitely not comfortable. Right now, he's in a pit of turmoil, drowning under the remnants of his own broken dam. What do you do for someone like that?

I take a step back and wrap my arms around Murphy's waist. His abdomen is firm against my hands, his skin warm, and his breathing is slow. Resting my forehead on his back, I breathe him in. These Boys, they're just too perfect for me. I almost feel my eyes well and butterflies flutter in the bottom of my stomach. I'm elated to have them because I don't know what I'd be doing right now. Right now, my heart hurts for Murph, and I'm amazed by the mere inner strength of Connor, who is carrying the both of us.

"I wish I could give you some amazing speech about how everything happens for a reason." My voice muffles against his shirt, but I think he can still hear me. "Or how we're stronger than this, and all that typical bullshit. What I _can_ tell you is…that we'll be okay. We'll figure it out. And it's not your fault. Connor said you thought it was, but it's not."

His breathing stops.

"We don't have to talk about it right now. I don't want to talk about it yet, either. But everything is okay, and I just need you to feel better, okay? Because I can't make you feel better and make me feel better at the same time."

Murphy pulls away from me, making my heart skip a beat, but I'm filled with relief when he meets me again, this time pulling me into his chest. His big hands squeeze my back, leaving no space in between us. His chest rises high and low, and his heart beat is right at my ear.

And that was it. No one said anything else. We just stood there on my balcony, abused by the wind, waiting for Connor to arrive with dinner. When he did, we moved inside. I fixed our plates, impressed with Connor's choices for his and his brother's (vegan) meals. Murphy moved the television into the living room. Then, we piled up on the couch, watched Star Trek reruns, and just enjoyed the moment.

While I completely and utterly avoided my real problems.


End file.
